


Easy (was apparently not part of the plan)

by Evil_Keshi



Series: Easy [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Betrayal, CIA, M/M, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9240653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Keshi/pseuds/Evil_Keshi
Summary: The mission was supposed to be easy, a real piece of cake. The betrayal had not been part of the plan, no more than Tina going after him to arrest him. And Percival had definitely not planned to break into some poor law student's apartment and kidnap him - well, sort of - before falling for him. But hey, shit happens, right?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [Update] Art inspired by this story is now available! Lots of thanks to the lovely [keepcalmandcherikon](http://keepcalmandcherikon.tumblr.com/) for [this scene](http://keepcalmandcherikon.tumblr.com/post/168426913603/what-to-do-when-you-get-caught-staring-at-your)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I've been dying to write in this fandom and for this pairing since forever so here I go, and hopefully you will like the story I have come up with. Enjoy and feel free to comment, I would be delighted to know what you think about it!

  


Wednesday 1st of February, 6:53pm

Percival was in the middle of wrapping his scarf around his neck when a subtle, almost inaudible creak of the stairs outside the door of the tiny apartment he'd inhabited for the past twenty-four hours made him pause. Slowly, mechanically, his right hand fell to his side, caressing the grip of the Glock 18 he was carrying in its holster, which would be hidden to anyone's sight once he would have put his long coat on.

Completely still, Percival listened intently, staring at the front door as if he could see through the thick panel, but no sound reached his ears. The building didn't qualify as brand new, old wood would creak from time to time, nothing abnormal in that. Allowing himself a short exhale, the man balled his hand into a fist before releasing it, in order to retrieve his coat from the narrow closet in the hallway, only a few meters away from the door.

He heard a second creak, less discreet than the first one.

This time, Percival's hand flew to grab his gun, aiming instantly at the entrance of the apartment. Silence again. He would not be fooled though. And it was time for him to leave anyway: he had a mission to complete.

Percival slowly knelt, still aiming for the door as he blindly reached for the black case at the bottom of the closet. _There, got it_. There was a whisper outside, soft, but not enough to pass unnoticed. Tightening his grip on the case handle, Percival stood up straight and stepped back in a smooth, almost graceful move, right as the door was kicked down in a furious roar and splintered wood flew around, giving way to his attackers.

He would have pushed the trigger without a hint of hesitation, released a deadly shot, if he hadn't recognised, at the very last second, the woman standing in the poorly-lit doorway, in the not-so pleasant company of three... No, four other officers of the CIA - all dressed up in their gear and aiming their guns at his chest. What the...

"Tina?" he asked, conveying all the obvious questions through his voice, never dropping his Glock since the men in front of him weren't lowering their weapons either.

Why? Why were they here, interrupting his mission, sneaking up on him, their colleague, and ready to shoot him like one of their usual targets?

"Percival Graves," Tina began instead of explaining herself, her voice clear and sharp in a stark contrast with the regret on her face, "You are under arrest for treason against the United States of America, premeditation of murder, terrorist activities and unauthorised sharing of confidential intelligence. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answ..."

"What?" he barked, baffled, "Tina, what the hell is this all about? Treason?"

"What, do you need me to be clearer?" the woman, whom he would have called his friend two minutes ago, asked sternly. "Weren't you leaving to go and kill Albus Dumbledore?"

Percival took an unsteady step back, eyes wide with surprise. This was supposed to be a secret mission, how could she know about...

"Don't move," one of the agents growled, "Drop the gun, Graves."

"Who?" Percival asked instead of complying, his hand almost cramping around the Glock as a shiver of nervousness ran down his spine. "Who told you? Who gave you the order to arrest me?"

"Grindelwald."

The name struck him like thunder would have, a harsh slap to the face, cold water freezing him to the bone.

"No," he stammered, "It's... it's impossible."

  


  


Thirty hours earlier

"Come in," a voice, low but commanding, enjoined him after three soft knocks on the door.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Grindelwald?" Percival asked, entering Gellert Grindelwald's office with perfectly masked curiosity.

"Ah, Graves, yes," the blond man in front of him said, standing up briefly to indicate the chair facing his desk, "Please, take a seat."

Percival complied, wondering why on earth the head of CIA's Department of Security would want to see him in his office hardly thirty minutes after they'd both left a meeting with the whole department. What was it that he could not say back then?

"Graves, I have a mission for you," the man stated without even sparing him a glance, never adverting his eyes from the file he was reading.

"I'm listening, Sir."

"This is top priority and also, top secret," Grindelwald added. "This is a one-person mission requiring the most absolute discretion, stealth and skills, which means that you're the only one I would trust with this, Graves."

"Thank you, Sir," Percival could only utter, a bit taken aback by this compliment.

While he was aware of the usual approval his services got from his superiors (obtained through hard work, strict discipline and sometimes a bit of luck and audacity that Tina would qualify as foolish courage), it was unexpected to hear Grindelwald acknowledge aloud a job well done. If he did so now, it meant that he really, _really_ needed Graves for this.

"The CIA needs you to... take care of a threat to the United States of America," Grindelwald explained softly, his fingertips stroking a picture on his file, "All you need to know about that man is in this folder."

He handed the beige file to Percival, who took it without a word and opened it to read the first page. Taking care of a threat, in their business, meant elimination, death. It wouldn't be Percival's first kill on the job, not after eleven years of missions, but he still liked to know what he was getting into.

The file explained the situation clearly enough: a Brit, arriving in the States the next day in the evening to meet with terrorist groups and scheme the ruin of America, needed to be taken down. Percival found pictures of the target speaking to known leaders of criminal organisations during earlier meetings and transcriptions of recordings that did not help the guy's case.

"He doesn't look dangerous," Percival commented as he saw a close-up photograph of the man, smile soft and eyes crinkling under his half-moon glasses. "But then again, they never do."

"Do not underestimate Albus Dumbledore," Grindelwald warned him, "Do that and you're a dead man."

"Yes, Sir."

"Dumbledore's plane will land tomorrow at JFK," his superior told him, "at 1914 hours. He shall arrive at his hotel - the Grand Hyatt - at 2000 precisely. Don't let him live any longer than that."

"Yes, Sir," Percival repeated as he listened carefully to his instructions.

While Grindelwald explained a few more details about the mission, including the number of the room Dumbledore had booked and where he would wait for the Brit to arrive, Percival stared at the picture, engraving the man's features in his memory. This wouldn't be too hard. A piece of cake, certainly, unless there was an unplanned change in the schedule - and even so, he would manage.

"Questions?" Grindelwald asked at the end oh his detailed explanation.

"No, Sir," Percival answered, shaking his head as he stood. "Everything is perfectly clear."

"Good. Then you're free to go. Don't breathe a word about this to anyone."

Percival nodded and turned around to leave, taking even steps towards the door, but as he rested his hand on the doorknob, Grindelwald's voice held him back.

"Graves," his superior boomed at the last second, "Officially, we never talked about this. You never received the order to kill Albus Dumbledore, just as the CIA has never wished for his death. If the mission goes south, you're on your own."

"Understood, Sir."

  


  


Wednesday 1st of February, 6:59pm

Grindelwald had betrayed him. Percival could only think of that possibility to explain why Tina would be aware of his mission. But why would he do that? Why give him the order him to kill Dumbledore only to charge someone else - his friend, of all people! - with his arrest? It didn't make any sense.

"Tina..." he started, hoping she would see the sincerity in his dark eyes. "This is a mistake, whatever he told you..."

"He told me enough," the young woman interrupted him as she took a few steps forward, at the same time as the armed agents, slowly but steadily coaxing him into backing away. "How could you? You, our best asset, gone rogue, and to kill an agent from the MI6 no less?"

Percival felt his blood turn to ice in his veins, even though his heart was beating fast, too fast. He didn't understand. Dumbledore, from the MI6? That never figured in the file!

"Goldstein, we've lost enough time," one of the guys behind Tina chimed in, before he addressed Percival directly, "Drop the gun, Graves, and if you still have shreds of dignity, accept your fate and don't make more of a mess."

Percival hesitated. He knew what awaited him if he let them take him in: a trial, a sentence, the end of his career, his life. Shame. All of that, unfairly. He was guilty of nothing but following the orders... Orders coming from a man who also wanted him behind bars, for a reason he had yet to discover. A reason that would prove his innocence.

 _You never received the order to kill Albus Dumbledore, just as the CIA has never wished for his death. If the mission goes south, you're on your own_.

His hold tightened around the Glock.

"Fine," he relented, his shoulders sagging as he lifted a dejected face to stare at the agents in front of him. "I surrender."

Percival shared a look with Tina, who both appeared relieved and wary - she knew him well, damnit. She had seen him in missions before, the confident, powerful, clever and bold man, not likely to give up. She doubted his willingness to yield... And she was right to.

He moved fast, too fast for any of them to react: raising his arm, he shot the light bulbs above them, plunging the room in sudden darkness, and shot twice in the agent's feet, eliciting yelps of surprise. Gunshots echoed, bullets found nothing but thin air as Percival ran, clutching the case to his chest, to the wall facing the east.

"Graves!" Tina shouted above the tumult, but he didn't slow down to listen to her, "Stop!"

The window shattered into a million pieces when Percival jumped through.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive feedback you have given to this story even with just the prologue, it made me smile like a fool! I'm personally very excited about this story, so I really hope that you will like this chapter... Where we finally meet Credence :) Enjoy!

  


Wednesday 1st of February, 7:05pm

Percival hissed in pain when tiny shards of glass slashed his hands and his face, too vulnerable even though he had raised the case in front of him as he went through the window. He couldn't afford to waste time on focusing on the cuts and blood he felt trickling down his cheeks though, not when he had just jumped from the second floor - not if he didn't want to fall flat on his face.

He had no choice but to let go of the case and curl onto himself as quickly as he could, before he hit the ground and rolled, once, twice, until his body stilled on the sidewalk. Percival groaned as pain, dim but impossible to ignore, erupted throughout his limbs. He would be covered in bruises and slashes but at least, nothing was broken - well, in theory.

He couldn't assess the damage any further though, he had to move, and fast. Tina and one or two agents would come down soon enough but the others would go for the window first and Percival didn't doubt that they would shoot him if they had the occasion. Scrambling to his feet, he snatched the case and his Glock from the ground and stuck close to the wall of the building so that it would be harder for the agents upstairs to aim well.

"Hey, you!" a voice on his left shouted. "Don't move!"

Whipping his head around, Percival swore under his breath when he saw yet another CIA puppet: in his hurry to escape from the apartment, he had forgotten that a driver was most likely waiting on his colleagues and now, said driver was threatening him with a gun.

"Seems to be an awful trend these days," he groaned, before he yelled to the driver, "Hey, catch this!"

He threw his case to the guy, who caught it in a clumsy move and didn't realise that his target was following suit. A punch to the jaw made him drop both the gun and the case, then Percival grabbed him by the neck and smashed his face in the CIA unmarked car on his right. The driver fell to his knees. Percival didn't wait to make sure that he wasn't dead: Tina had reached the first floor and a bullet coming from the window of the apartment missed his left hand by a few inches only.

Time to go.

Praying that the dark of the night and the shadows of the buildings and cars would help him to _not_ get killed, Percival fumbled with the jacket of the knocked-out driver and finally found the car keys; retrieving his case, he then threw himself inside the vehicle right as another bullet grazed the back fog light of the car. Keys. Clutch. Accelerator. It took mere seconds to start the engine and get the car on the road but to him, these seconds seemed to last an eternity, especially when he caught sight of Tina (his _friend_ , for fuck's sake!) raising her own gun.

The window on his left exploded as his foot pressed the accelerator down and Percival, briefly adverting his eyes from the road, opened fire on the cars parked on the side, blindly aiming for the tires before he took the first street on the right and disappeared from sight.

The sudden silence around him was only troubled by his erratic heartbeat.

"Fuck," he groaned, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He couldn't think. Everything was turning in his head, Grindelwald's words, Tina's, the agents' behaviour... He couldn't think but he _had_ to, he had to decide what to do, but how could he when he was... when he was...

_If the mission goes south, you're on your own._

"Fuck!" he yelled again, hitting the wheel in mixed anger and distress.

There was no protocol for this kind of situation but then again, CIA agents betrayed by their superiors (if this really was what had happened) hadn't been plenty over the years - or hadn't lived to tell. Percival could not fall back onto any of his previous experiences to decide how to proceed and where to go from there: under normal circumstances, as normal as could be for a special agent, he would retreat, go to a safe house and wait for other instructions... However, no one would contact him now.

Percival didn't know the agents who had followed Tina in her mission, which meant that they usually didn't work on the same level as them, which in turn meant that Grindelwald hadn't made a secret out of Percival's so-called treason. Everyone knew, probably, and as a result, the usual safe houses would no longer be safe. No one would tell him what to do.

_If the mission goes south, you're on your own._

Killing Albus Dumbledore didn't matter anymore - he had to survive. He knew Tina, she wouldn't give up, she would come after him in spite of their friendship... Or what had once been friendship, considering the recent events. Tina alone would not have worried him, she might be dutiful but she was also kind, sometimes too much for this business, and if he got to her alone, maybe he could explain. But she had followed Grindelwald's orders and everyone knew that Grindelwald always obtained what he wanted. He couldn't rely on Tina, not now, not yet. Percival had to get out of this on his own.

The man kept a shaky hand on the wheel and ran the other through his hair, longer on top and brushed backwards, before he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, found it, and dialled a number.

"911, what is your emergency?" a girl asked as the call was accepted.

"Gunshots were heard in Queens," he informed her, modulating his voice to sound brittle, "between the 11th Street and 47th Avenue, someone's injured, they need help!"

"Calm down sir, please," the woman tried to soothe him with gentle tones. "We will send an ambulance and the police will arrive soon. Sir, can you tell me your name?"

"My name? Sure," he scoffed. "I'm Jason Bourne."

Percival didn't hear her reaction as he threw his cell phone through the broken window, hoping that a bus would crush it under its tires. He kept driving, a little calmer now. Sending the police after Tina's team would give him a head start, even if only for a few minutes - precious minutes that he couldn't waste.

He needed to ditch the car as soon as possible: getting rid of the tracker in his phone would be useless if he kept driving around New York in a CIA car. He also needed to gather intelligence to determine what his next step would be and first of all, he had to learn more about Albus Dumbledore. He had blindly trusted Grindelwald about the guy, just like any other agent would have put their faith into their leader, and now Tina said that he was with the MI6...

Percival frowned. Grindelwald got him good, he would end up on the CIA and MI6 most wanted list, on top of causing a diplomatic incident. They would hunt him down, were probably already busy trying to locate him, but he wouldn't go down silently. Hell no.

His only chance to find anything on Dumbledore was through his personal space on the CIA website, even though the guys at the office would immediately be alerted once he would start the research. He would have... between five and ten minutes before they located him, making it fifteen, twenty minutes at most until Tina reached him. Not nearly enough time but it was his only way to get reliable intel.

Now, he needed to access the Internet - and of course, he'd gotten rid of his phone. Going back to his own flat in Manhattan would be stupid, as it was the first place they would go looking for him now that he couldn't find shelter in his usual safe houses. He couldn't try the cybercafés either, not with the blood marring his face. He had to find another place.

But first: ditch the car.

  


  


Wednesday 1st of February, 7:28pm

The rear-view mirror of the car showed him a poor reflection of his face. The gash on the bridge of his nose stung, one ran through his left eyebrow and he was lucky the glass hadn't damaged his eye; thinner scratches bloodied his cheeks, ears and hands and overall, he looked like hell.

Percival had parked the car in an avenue of Brooklyn and just killed the engine, now allowing himself two seconds of narcissism to make sure that his face was not too badly bruised or cut. He would live, in spite of the pain that throbbed just everywhere.

Fidgeting a little, Percival turned towards his case, laid on the passenger seat; he couldn't take it with him as it would slow him down but that didn't mean that he would leave its contents for the CIA to find once they would have located the car - which wouldn't take long anymore. Deft fingers opened the case and Percival first took the file that Grindelwald had given him the previous day, folding the sheets of paper several times to slip them in one of the pockets of his coat. The cash went the same way, and the man thanked his usual clairvoyance that always made him bring some rolled notes on every mission. He might not technically need it this time, as he didn't plan on leaving New York and run, but since he couldn't use his credit card lest he be located, he'd rather take it and be safe than sorry. After all, if this mess with both the CIA and the MI6 didn't end well, he might eventually need this money.

Percival chose to leave the silencer he'd planned to use in the Grand Hyatt, to kill Dumbledore as discreetly as possible; however, he pocketed his knife and the extra ammunition, even though he hoped that he wouldn't need to kill anyone. He'd broken the CIA driver's nose - or worse - and it was enough already.

Taking a deep breath, Percival snapped the case shut and opened the car door before he stepped out of the vehicle, striding towards his next target. He'd heard, a few months ago, about a biker-friendly café that had recently opened in Brooklyn and he'd passed in front of it a few times but never had the occasion to actually stop there. Well, there was a first time for everything, right?

The facade of the café was only dimly lit, a chance really, since Percival's main interest for this establishment laid in the dozen of bikes parked in front of the building. He didn't have much of a choice regarding the one he would borrow - steal, really. He wouldn't even try those in front of the windows as he would be caught in two seconds, but perhaps the corner of the street, darker and just out of immediate sight to anyone walking out of the café, would provide him with what he was looking for.

Bingo.

Ignoring the bright apple green Vespa that he would _never_ , in his life, be seen riding, Percival made a beeline for the sleek red Harley a bit further away.

"Hello, gorgeous," he nearly cooed as he knelt by the bike.

It looked brand new and it almost made him feel bad for hotwiring such a piece of art. Almost: he still remembered his priorities. Now, Percival didn't consider himself a connoisseur but he could ride and he was able to tell just fine which bikes were fast and which ones weren't. That Harley had nothing to feel ashamed of.

Percival tried to make a quick job of hotwiring the bike, glancing to the café every now and then to make sure that the owner of the Harley wasn't coming back anytime soon, and his lips curled up in a satisfied smile as the engine suddenly let out a soft purr, that quickly turned into roaring pops when he took off.

As he crossed over Williamsburg Bridge, heading for Manhattan, he wondered where Tina was at this moment. By now, she must have gotten rid of the police team Percival had sent for her and he could imagine her boiling with rage and frustration. He hoped, selfishly, that she worried about him a little as well. He could not consider them the best friends ever - they didn't talk too much about personal matters and certainly didn't braid each other's hair - but they had been sent on missions together before and they got along well, they made a good pair. He _wanted_ her to worry or at least wonder what the hell had happened, as it would mean she trusted him a little still and didn't think that he would so easily betray the CIA.

Since Percival didn't know exactly where he was going right now, he imagined that Tina wouldn't either: she would probably check his flat and find it empty, so she would rely on the location of the car the CIA would send her. Her next stop would be Brooklyn and even though he hadn't parked the car just in front of the bikers' café, she would eventually figure out that he had found his new vehicle there... But she wouldn't know in which direction he'd set off. Good. It would give him some more time.

Percival didn't make much of an entrance in East Village, few people actually turned around to watch him pass in a blur of red and black, and he kept going west, heading for the university. Students lived in that neighbourhood, lots of them, so stealing a laptop wouldn't pose a problem. However, the lights were turned on in most of the houses he spied, as people came home just in time for dinner - Percival heard his own stomach grumble at the thought.

He eventually found a bloc of dark houses a few streets down and slowed the bike, taking his time to spot the perfect one. One offered potential: it was a narrow building with a wisteria vine that would occult part of the front window in the summer, once its long leaves and flowers would grow. Right now though, the brown twigs made a pitiful sight and didn't hide squat but it didn't matter to him, no; the fact that he didn't detect any light inside, nor inside the houses on either side, convinced him to pick that one. Even if he didn't find a laptop, if he could just rest for a little while... Just a few minutes, take five fucking minutes to think while Tina and the CIA weren't too hot on his tail...

Percival shook his head. He would focus on that later, now he had to move and get inside before people saw him and started to wonder what he was doing in front of a locked door - which would soon open for him. Digging his fingers in his pocket, he found the paperclip that bonded the sheets of Dumbledore's file together and used it to pick the lock until the door gave way.

As he hurried inside, Percival never noticed the old man observing him from the window of his living-room across the street pick up his phone.

  


  


Wednesday 1st of February, 8:01pm

There was no laptop. Tons of books, yes, but no laptop, and yet he had searched everywhere - living-room, kitchen, bedroom... Even the bathroom, you never knew. A desk stood in a corner of the living-room but even there, he found nothing but more books, pencils and notes about the Constitution. Great, he'd just wasted his time.

Of course, because one disaster at a time was never enough, he heard the rattling of a key in the door lock. Fuck. Constitution-Person was coming back home. Percival quickly moved from the kitchen to the hallway and skidded in the corner between the wall and the door, slowing his breathing as much as he could. Hopefully, Constitution-Person wasn't a heavyweight boxer and would be easy to manhandle.

The door was pushed open and he tensed. Percival first noticed the scent of fresh bread as well as something sweet while a shadowy silhouette, carrying something in his arms, slipped inside the house and closed the door with a light kick of his right foot without turning around. The shadow shuffled towards a switch on its left and just as the lights were turned on, Percival jumped out of his hiding place.

A frail body collided with the wall as the man nearly tackled the newcomer, who let out the beginning of a startled scream before Percival clamped a hand over the infuriating mouth and the silence came back.

Two wide, terrified eyes met his own, too dark in a pale face crowned by a mop of black hair, short and unruly, as if ruffled by the wind. No boxer stood in front of Percival, God no: it was a young man, a boy really, so thin he suddenly realised that he would have no trouble knocking him out if needed. The boy looked like a snap of Percival's fingers would be enough to break him in two.

"Are you going to scream?" he asked on a low, almost threatening tone.

The boy shook his head as much as he could, what with the firm hand still covering his mouth, but Percival nodded his understanding and slowly released the young man, who took a shuddering breath.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Percival spoke again, before he frowned as he checked the thin body. "I'm sorry if I already have. What's your name?"

"Cr... Credence," the other stammered. "Credence Barebone... Are you... Are you going to kill me?"

Percival took a step back and stood between the boy and the door just in case crazy thoughts went through the young man's mind, and he chuckled.

"Now, why would I kill you, Credence?"

"I... I don't know? I... You're... You're Percival Graves, right? They said you were dangerous."

"What?" he asked in shock, both from hearing his name in the mouth of a perfect stranger and the fact that people were talking about him. "Who said what?!"

His voice rose and Credence seemed to curl up on himself, trying to make himself smaller as he lifted a protective arm in front of his face, as if he expected to be slapped.

"The... The police! You're... you're all over the news! They're looking for you, they said you're a dangerous criminal! I... Please, don't hit me!"

Percival uncurled the fist he hadn't realised he'd balled up into the collar of Credence's coat and he smoothed the creases that had appeared in the fabric, feeling the boy's bony shoulders under his fingertips as he did so.

"Sorry," he grumbled. "I said I wouldn't hurt you and I meant that. I'll get out of your hair soon, I promise. In the meantime, do me a favour and don't call the police, alright?"

"Alright," Credence nodded, so feverishly that Percival thought his slender neck would snap under the pressure.

"You live alone?" the man asked the younger one, hoping that they wouldn't get any other visitors.

"Yes," Credence said with a gulp, probably assuming that Percival was asking to make sure he wouldn't be interrupted while he was strangling him to death. "I, uh, I rent the first floor, the landlords live upstairs but they're on a vacation. Florida."

"Okay," the man said in relief. "Good. Now, last question: do you have a laptop somewhere?"

Another frantic nod.

"In there," Credence softly said, looking down to the olive messenger bag hanging off his shoulder. "May I...?"

His arms made a small gesture to draw Percival's attention to the three or four bags he was still carrying, every single one of them reading _Kowalski Quality Baked Goods_. So that was where the delicious smell came from.

"Sure."

Percival kind of escorted Credence to the kitchen, where the boy carefully laid the bread and what had to be cupcakes on the table. He noticed that he was carrying himself and moving gingerly, almost as if scared that a wrong gesture would make the _dangerous criminal_ snap and put a bullet in his skull. Well, he _did_ throw the boy against a wall, after all.

Credence opened his bag to retrieve his laptop and handed it to Percival, who felt a smile creep on his face. Finally, luck was on his side!

"You wouldn't happen to have a printer in here, would you?" he inquired, keeping his fingers crossed.

"Ah, uh... I do?" Credence spluttered, obviously scared to displease the other man. "It's not good quality though, I'm sor..."

"It will do," Percival assured him. "Don't worry, Credence, I'm not here for you."

The boy gave a shaky nod and led his visitor to the living-room, circling the desk that stood near the window with the wisteria to gather several notebooks and textbooks, under which the printer had been hidden.

"I don't use it very often," Credence offered quietly, compelled to apologise.

Percival shrugged but turned on the laptop and plugged it to the printer, counting the seconds as he waited for the Google tab to show up, then the CIA website. Glancing at the lower corner of the screen, he saw that the tiny white numbers read 8:09pm. He logged in to his personal account. He had five minutes, tops.

Percival quickly started a search in the database for Albus Dumbledore and groaned when the page refreshed with no result at all. Frantic, he clicked on the small earth image at the top of the website and was redirected to the international database. If the MI6 and the CIA had shared any information on Dumbledore, he would find it. This time, a file did appear on the website but the access was restricted to the agents with a level five of security clearance.

Percival felt his insides churn. While he did have the requested clearance, the fact that only agents high in the hierarchy were granted access to this file meant nothing good. God, if Grindelwald had sent him to kill one of England's most qualified and important assets... The Queen herself would have his skin.

He entered his security code and sighed in relief when the file opened itself before his eyes. Percival hit print without a second thought; it would be useless to read it now and waste time while he wasn't in a safe place. His joy was short-lived though: the printer made a sudden beeping noise as it interrupted the process. Glancing at the laptop, Percival realised that only five pages out of ten had been printed but, just before he could ask Credence if his printer often stopped to restart later, a message appeared on the screen. _Access denied. You do not have the authorization to access this file._

"Fuck!" Percival yelled, startling Credence who had stayed quietly next to him the whole time. "They found me. Well, good for you: I'm leaving."

He would have grabbed the printed pages and left without a fuss if he hadn't suddenly heard a noise, which sounded way too much like the flaps of a helicopter and way too close for his comfort. _Coincidence_ , he thought. The CIA had just found out that he was spying on their website, they couldn't have located him already, not so fast! Even if Tina had found the bikers' café, she couldn't know where he'd gone to, it was impossible! _Coincidence, Percy_ , his mind reminded him, _coincidence_.

Except that when he glanced at Credence, he saw him looking down at three tiny red dots that were flickering on the black coat he hadn't dared to take off, then travelled to Percival's own chest where they shone unsteadily, right above his heart. Lifting his head slowly, he saw himself in the window, beside Credence's terrified reflection, and beyond, he caught sight of the street, now swarming with armed agents and... Percival's breath hitched. They'd seen him looking at them directly.

"Get down!" he shouted as he wrapped his arms around Credence and pushed him to the floor, right as gunshots were fired.

Credence yelped under him and Percival protected him as well as he could, covering the boy's body with his own. He looked down, locking eyes with him, and the fear in the dark orbs almost broke his heart. He'd brought this upon Credence, an innocent boy he had dragged into his own mess.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered, hoping Credence would hear him in spite of the firing. "Are you hurt?"

Part of the fear, in the eyes of shadow, faded and gave way to the surprise of hearing that question from the mouth of the man who was responsible for his situation in the first place.

"N... Not yet?" the boy squeaked out - and he didn't sound too sure himself.

Percival pressed his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, then he reached out to take the five miserable pages from the printer, shoving them roughly in his pocket, alongside the file that Grindelwald had provided him with. The agents outside would soon stop firing and then, then Percival would react. The hand in his pocket wrapped itself around his Glock. He heard a sniffle beneath him and looked down to see unshed tears shining in Credence's eyes, a result of the fear and the adrenaline, probably. As much as the sight pained him, Percival couldn't help but think that the boy had a perfect timing.

"Credence?" he called softly when the gunshots finally stopped, a few seconds later. "Credence, I'm sorry but I'll need your help again."

"How?" came the question, barely audible as the agents outside moved closer to the house, shouting at Percival to surrender right now.

"Just play along," he answered in a breath.

On these cryptic words, Percival grabbed the boy's coat in a fist and rose to his feet, dragging Credence up with him, but then he pulled the young man against him like a shield and pressed the muzzle of his gun right under the boy's jaw.

"Step back!" he yelled, "Step back, or I'll shoot him!"

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading so far, I would love to know what you think about the story so feel free to share your thoughts! Also, if you want, feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://like-a-bucky.tumblr.com/). I'll see you soon ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so, so much for the amazing support you've given to this story, you are all amazing. I hope you will like this new chapter!

  


Wednesday 1st of February, 8:20pm

Credence's tears finally rolled down his cheeks. Percival didn't know whether the boy was playing along like he'd just said, fully embracing the role of the perfect hostage, or was truly scared and shedding tears in genuine terror. He opted for the second hypothesis. Credence didn't know him, he had no reason to trust Percival when he'd assured the boy that he would not hurt him.

He's spoken the truth though: Percival was a CIA agent, not a serial killer or a psychopath. He might need the boy right now, go as far as to exploit his sheer fear, but never would he want to hurt him.

"Graves!" Tina's voice reached his ears from the other side of the shattered window. "Let the boy go and then we will talk!"

"Who said I wanted to talk?" he shot back, moving to the side and away from the window carefully, feeling broken glass crack under his shoes. "I don't, especially not with your team of snipers!"

"Let the boy go," Tina repeated, "Come back with us and take responsibility for what you did, we will treat you fairly. Don't get yourself killed over this, Graves!"

Percival closed his eyes, calculating his chances to escape - again. He was clearly outnumbered, a helicopter was flying right above his head, the agents outside had probably already taken care of his bike to make sure that he wouldn't be able to ride it and they were all waiting for him with their guns. It didn't please him but his only chance was Credence. Unless...

"Is there a back door?" he whispered in the boy's ear.

"N... No..."

Fuck. Well, back to plan A, then... Which wasn't fully formed in his mind yet but he didn't have enough time to think it through. It all came down to him, Credence, and the fact that Tina was too kind to risk an hostage's life. All things considered, maybe Percival was lucky she had been sent on his trail and not some other ruthless agent. Maybe.

"Tina!" he shouted at last. "I'm going to walk out the front door with the boy in three minutes. I want the helicopter gone, a car waiting for me with the driver side door open, key in the ignition and engine running. I'll release the boy then."

He couldn't catch the muffled words the agents outside exchanged with Tina but eventually, he heard her voice again:

"Okay, Graves! We'll get you a car! Don't hurt anyone!"

He couldn't help but smile softly at her last words. She could have said _don't hurt the boy_. _Don't hurt my agents_. Instead, she had chosen to remind him that she didn't wish for anyone, Percival himself included, to get hurt. It would almost make him regret what he was about to do, but he didn't have much of a choice, so...

He couldn't hear the helicopter anymore. Good. He wasn't an idiot though, he imagined that Tina had sent the pilot away just for a little while and that the car they would choose for him would be easy to spot from the sky. That was what he would have done anyway. It didn't matter much: unlike them, he finally had the beginning of a plan and he knew exactly what he was going to do.

"It's time," he whispered in Credence's ear, before he shouted to Tina, "I'm going out now!"

In front of him, still held flush against Percival's body by his strong arm, the boy took a few unsteady steps towards the door, which he opened for them. In the street, the agents were already aiming their guns at him - them - and they watched the two men head for the car. Percival was right to think the helicopter would easily catch them: hard to miss an orange car in the neighbourhood. As he glanced all around him, his trained eyes noticed that a CIA car a bit further down the street had its lights on, driver and team waiting inside, ready to give them chase. Ah, Tina...

"How inelegant," he drawled, turning his head to stare at her.

A brief flash of confusion went through her eyes as she probably wondered whether he was talking about the colour of the car or her attempt at fooling him, but he didn't give her any explanation. Instead, a quick press of his fingers on the Glock took the safety off and he heard Credence gasp in his arms.

"Tell your team to get out of the fucking car," he growled, still heading for his own vehicle himself. "Do it, now!"

"Calm down," she tried to soothe him, "Calm down. Nobody has to get hurt."

"He won't," Percival snapped, "if you call your team back. Now, Tina, or else..."

Credence closed his eyes when the muzzle of the gun dug in his flesh.

"Okay!" Tina exclaimed, lifting her hands in a placating gesture, before she spoke into her earpiece. "Alpha team, come back to the house. I repeat, come back to the house. Quickly."

"Now we're talking! Good," Percival praised her - he'd known she wouldn't dare to piss him off.

They reached the car. He released his hold on Credence so that he could move more freely, yet Percival still kept his gun on him for his own sake: as long as he was aiming at the boy, no one would shoot him. Well, hopefully.

"At my signal, get in the car," he told the boy, "and move to the passenger seat. Buckle up. I'll be right behind you."

"You got your car," Tina spoke again, unaware of the brief exchange between him and Credence. "Now let the boy go! I know you don't want to hurt him, Graves, it's not you!"

"Right," he barked, "but then maybe you don't know me too well. After all, you didn't think I would ever betray the CIA, did you?"

It was too easy. Too easy to turn the situation around and benefit, at least once, from the mess that his life had become. Tina looked like she'd just been slapped but Percival didn't wait to know what she would say next: he'd made her doubt, hesitate, and it was enough for him.

"Get in the car, Credence."

The young man complied. Just as he'd been told, he moved to the seat on the right, with some difficulty due to his lanky limbs, and Percival kept his gun pointed at him the whole time.

"Graves!" Tina shouted when he ducked to climb in as well, "You said you'd let him go!"

She was right, of course, although he had never specified that he would release him right after their deal. He intended to let him go, he really did, but at the moment he needed the boy to assure his relative safety.

"Did you fasten your seatbelt?" he asked.

"Yes. Mister Graves, wha... Ah!"

Credence's sentence turned into a startled shout when Percival pressed the accelerator down and made the car surge forward. He didn't care much that an agent had to jump aside in order to avoid being ran over, not when he saw in the rear-view mirror that Tina was yelling something into her earpiece, no doubt calling the helicopter back. He caught sight of several agents running to their car, but then he took a turn to the left and couldn't see anything but the road ahead.

Next to him, Credence had slipped a few inches down his seat and his hands were curled around his seatbelt, holding onto it as if his life depended on it. His eyelids fluttered close and he took deep, even breaths, probably trying to calm down.

"Are you okay?" Percival asked without adverting his eyes from the road.

"No," Credence mumbled. "I... I think I'm going to cry. Again."

Fair enough. Actually, Percival believed that the boy was holding up better than he expected, given the situation. He didn't voice any of his thoughts, although, for the record, he was truly sorry to have involved the young man in this. This night would probably traumatise the boy for the rest of his life... And they weren't even close to be done yet, he thought as the helicopter came back in the sky.

"Just so you know," he finally said, maybe to distract Credence from the impending rush of adrenaline, "I wasn't going to shoot you. I never was."

"I know," the young man said, and this time he opened his eyes to stare at his driver. "I mean, I was almost sure."

They could have shared a moment there, a brief instant of touching understanding. However, the fleeting instant was cut short when Percival caught sight of a CIA car in his rear-view mirror.

"They're behind us," he warned Credence, "Hang on."

A brusque turn to the right had the boy pressed against the window but Percival didn't - couldn't - worry about him right now. Another driver honked angrily, which didn't phase him, and the car shot forward, speeding north. Credence wanted to close his eyes again and let it happen but instead, his eyes grew wide when he saw the red light at the intersection, at the end of the street. Percival didn't slow down.

"M... Mister Graves!" the boy yelled.

The car roared as the driver sped up again and crossed the road just in time, slipping between a truck and a minivan that hit the brakes to avoid them, the tires leaving long, black lines on the surface of the road. Behind them, they could hear more cars honking and screeching to an halt - Percival hoped that the CIA was among them but he didn't turn around to check. He had more pressing matters at hand.

"Oh God," Credence whispered in awe next to him, until he realised that they were now driving against the traffic. "Oh God! No, no, no, I'm going to die..."

"Relax," Percival encouraged him even as he turned the wheel in quick jerks of his hands and bypassed three cars in a row, "It's alright."

"Alright?!" Credence shrieked, finally losing it. "You say that as if you'd done this a thousand times!"

The driver merely shrugged and the boy whined in distress as Percival kept driving, way too fast for his liking.

"Are they still behind us?" Percival eventually asked, hoping that giving him a task to focus on would help the young man.

"I... I don't think so," Credence answered, his body twisting to observe the cars behind them, "but the helicopter is still following us."

The young man regretted his words as soon as they escaped his lips: Percival's only reaction was to drive even faster. They took a tight turn at the same high speed and suddenly, as he became aware of his surroundings, which he hadn't focused on too much until then, Credence thought he understood Percival's intentions. In front of them, looking bigger the closer they came, stood the Park Avenue Tunnel.

Percival's eyes narrowed in concentration when he entered the tunnel and Credence felt like he could finally breathe as the driver was forced to slow down due to the traffic and this one-lane road that didn't enable him to pass the cars in front of their own. Confusion was messing with Credence's brain: yes, the tunnel shielded them from the helicopter but what was the point, when Percival couldn't drive faster? Not that Credence wanted him to (God, no) but at this pace, the CIA would quickly catch up with them...

"Unfasten your seatbelt," the man suddenly told him, "We're getting out."

"Are you crazy?" Credence exclaimed, "What about the other cars? We will get ourselves killed!"

Percival almost said _trust me_ but he managed to refrain himself: how would the boy do that, when he had threatened him with a gun and more or less taken him hostage? Credence had all the reasons in the world to be wary or even, hate him. And yet... The young man unfastened his seatbelt with shaky fingers, his face even paler than before. He could sense the boy's surprise when Percival pulled to the right and stopped the car on the emergency lane, close to the wall of the tunnel but still with enough distance so that Credence would be able to open the door and get out.

"Wait for my signal," Percival told him, "and you will be alright."

To Credence's slight horror and astonishment, the man nearly threw himself in the middle of the roadway and raised his hands. In front of him, the cars made an awful sound as the drivers braked and stopped, just in time not to hit Percival. He waved his hand at Credence, who scrambled to his feet and hurried in the other man's direction, feeling like his heart was about to stop and his legs, to give out on him. He could barely walk straight but he managed to wobble his way to Percival, right as the driver of the first car in line walked out of her vehicle.

"Are you crazy?!" the woman exclaimed with wide eyes, "I could have hit you! What were you thinking, going..."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Percival interrupted her, shoving his CIA card under her nose so quickly that she probably didn't see a thing, "but this is an emergency. My partner and I must requisition your car."

"What... But..."

"Thank you, Ma'am, you've helped the nation a great deal today!" he added as he bypassed her and climbed in her car, motioning Credence to do the same.

The boy hadn't fastened his seatbelt yet when Percival took off but he sighed in relief when he realised that the man's driving was less reckless than before now that they didn't risk being spotted anymore.

When they reached the end of the tunnel, the helicopter was waiting for them already and Percival grinned when the pilot didn't follow: he expected an orange car, certainly not a sleek, black BMW. That woman had good taste. He didn't allow himself to feel sorry for leaving her alone in that tunnel but hey, at least she had another car she could use - he'd left the key in the ignition. Now, she would probably be surprised if the CIA asked her to pull over but by the time they did and realised what had happened, they would have lost his trail.

"Where are we going, now?" Credence asked all of a sudden, his voice echoing softly in the silence.

Percival's smile faded.

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "Someplace safe."

Now that the CIA wasn't right behind him anymore, he needed to retreat, vanish, and take time to read the MI6 file on Dumbledore and to think of a plan to prove his innocence - which meant proving Grindelwald's malice as well. Percival didn't doubt that his superior had framed him but he still couldn't think of a single reason that would explain why: he had never been in any trouble before, he had always made a point of doing his job properly, so why him? And more importantly, what was Grindelwald hiding, why would he order Dumbledore's death if he was an agent as well?

"Uh, Mister Graves?" Credence called softly, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Take the first on the left, then onto Madison Avenue."

Percival stared at the boy, brows furrowing in surprise.

"What?"

"You said that you needed a safe place," Credence explained slowly, fidgeting on his seat and looking down at his hands, "I'm offering you one. If... if you want?"

Baffled, Percival almost missed his turn on Madison Avenue and Credence's stomach rose to his throat at the sudden jerky moves of the car.

"Why are you helping me?" Percival asked him. "I mean, you already have but you weren't exactly in a position to say no. I'm still sorry about that, for the record... But why now?"

"I... I don't know," Credence offered weakly, still not daring enough to look at the other man. "Maybe that's because you haven't stopped telling me that you were sorry, that you didn't want to hurt me? I... I have met bad people before, Mister Graves, and you... You don't look like one."

Percival remained silent, for once at a loss of words. He felt like he didn't deserve Credence's gentleness, he who had brought this maelstrom into his life...

"That place..." he started, but cleared his throat when he heard his voice crack a little, "Where is it? We shouldn't park the car right in front of the building, so..."

"Stay on Madison Avenue," Credence replied, a little less hesitant this time, "and pass the cathedral, then take the 5th Avenue. You... You could leave the car there and we'll keep on foot. It's not far, I promise."

Percival stared at the boy for a few more seconds, then relented.

"Fine."

  


  


Wednesday 1st of February, 8:58pm

Walking next to Credence felt surreal to Percival. He had threatened that boy with a gun earlier and now, instead of running away as soon as he could, he was leading him to a place that he had sworn would be safe for him. Just like before, in the boy's house, Percival noticed that he was walking with hunched shoulders and his head bowed, almost hesitant to straighten up; if he did though, Credence would be taller than him. But no. He looked like someone who had grown up too fast, too soon, who didn't get the time to get used to the changes in his own body.

They didn't speak as they walked, trying to keep an even pace not to catch the eye, especially now that Percival was on the news: now, the whole city knew that the CIA was looking everywhere for a dangerous rogue agent.

A few minutes later, Credence stopped in front of a narrow building across Central Park with two large windows and, painted in golden letters on the glass, Percival read the words _Kowalski Quality Baked Goods_.

"A bakery?" he asked in surprise.

"Y... yes," Credence said with a sudden blush on his pale face. "I work here to... pay for my studies. I have a key and there is a back room where we stock flour, sugar, fruits and... Well. Everything. I... I know there will be people coming in and out tomorrow but at least tonight, you will be safe and no one will bother you. Is... Is this okay?"

Percival nodded, still a little astonished - both because of Credence's willingness to help him and the bakery. But it looked welcoming enough, clean, and it was the perfect place to hide for a little while: the CIA would doubtlessly make an enquiry about Credence but even so, they would never think that his hostage had helped him and offered him the place where he worked as shelter.

When he tried to open the door, Credence's hands were slightly shaking around the key and as he gently took it from him, Percival felt the cold of the boy's fingers against his own skin. He never opened a door so fast. He ushered the younger man inside, where warmth welcomed them, and he locked the door behind them. The scent of bread and pies filled Percival's nose even though the display counters were all empty at this hour.

"Do you bake yourself?" he asked out of pure curiosity, examining his surroundings.

"Not really, I usually man the customer area," Credence answered, motioning Percival to follow him to the back of the bakery, slipping behind the counter. "I've started to bake muffins and cookies but that's it, really. I'm... I'm not too good with bigger pastries, not yet. Jacob said he would teach me, though."

"Jacob?"

"Jacob Kowalski," Credence specified, "The owner. He has been good to me."

Percival followed the boy to the back room, between the shelves of flour and sugar, until they reached a more isolated area with a couch, a table and several chairs, as well as a kitchenette. Credence took off his coat and carefully folded it over the back of the couch, then turned to Percival with what looked like nervousness.

"So..." he halted. "What now? I... I mean... I guess you can't let me go, right?"

"Right," Percival admitted, taking off his own coat. "Not yet, at least."

"May I ask you a question?" Credence said shyly, but he kept going after the older man's nod. "Who... Who are you? Who did you... kill for the police to show up with a helicopter and so many agents?"

"Today, hopefully no one," Percival answered with a sigh, "And these people? They weren't policemen, they're CIA. Like me. You want to know if I killed people? Yes, I have. But they weren't innocent."

"Why are they after you, if you work together?" Credence asked, curious, instead of backing away like Percival expected him to after his confession.

The agent didn't answer right away. He didn't want to involve the young man any further, he had run enough risks already and this was supposed to remain top secret, like most of the CIA-related matters. But he... He needed at least one person, one, to know him. To know that he wasn't guilty, that he had never betrayed the nation, that he...

"I think I've been framed," he finally said in a breath. "Grindelwald, my superior, gave me a mission: I was supposed to kill a man tonight. No one knew about that, except for the both of us... But right before I left to get the job done, the woman you saw outside your house, Tina Goldstein, came with a team to arrest me on Grindelwald's orders. She said I was a traitor, a terrorist, and that the man I planned on killing was a MI6 agent... Which is now confirmed, thanks to the search I did on your laptop. Thank you for that, by the way."

"You are... welcome, I guess?"

Percival nodded, then proceeded to take Dumbledore's files out of his pocket to unfold them and lay them on the table, smoothing the creases with his hands as much as he could.

"Why..." Credence started to ask, before he cut himself short and looked down, realising that maybe Percival didn't want to hear him anymore.

"Go on," the agent said on a gentle tone, encouraging the boy to speak.

"Why can't you explain that to your colleagues?" Credence eventually voiced his thoughts. "The woman... Miss Goldstein? Do you think that she wouldn't believe you?"

"Maybe she would," he answered with a sigh as he stepped forward to drop on the closest chair, his example quickly followed by the younger man who sat on the couch in front of him. "Credence, you must understand that the CIA isn't the most forgiving of institutions. If I went to Tina, she would bring me to Grindelwald before doing anything else and I wouldn't blame her because that's how we work. I can't go back if I don't provide solid evidence that I haven't done anything wrong."

The younger man nodded and this time, he didn't add anything, didn't ask more questions, as he believed that Mister Graves had been kind enough already to answer him so far. He didn't want to push him. Credence watched the agent as he slowly rubbed his temples with his fingertips and took five minutes to rest, however briefly. Blood covered what he could see of the man's face, cuts and slashes that didn't look too good, and he thought he spotted minuscule shards of glass in one of those.

Standing up all of a sudden, Credence slipped behind Percival and went to the kitchenette, where he opened the small fridge and took out a box of pastries that hadn't been sold that day, then he rose on his tippy toes to grab the first aid kit in a cupboard above his head.

"Are you hungry?" he asked shyly when he came back to stand in front of Percival. "It is not much, nor is it a proper meal but..."

He trailed off when the older man opened dark eyes that stared at him in silence, until they drifted lower and down to the open box carefully balanced on his right hand.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Percival confessed, reaching out to take a canelé with delicate fingers. "Thank you."

Credence nodded and laid the box on the table behind him, before he took a deep breath and suggested:

"I think you should let me take a look at your wounds. You don't look too good..."

Mouth still half-full, Percival froze in surprise and finally caught sight of the first aid kit in Credence's left hand.

"No, it's... I'm fine."

"You are not," the young man dared to argue, and he immediately stared at Percival with wide eyes, "I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry about it," the other said before the boy could apologise. "If you really want to play nurse... Then by all means, do."

Percival coaxed his sore muscles to relax as he leaned against the back of the chair and watched the young man pour antiseptic onto a compress. He wasn't sure what to expect and didn't even know why the boy wanted to tend to his wounds so badly - maybe he didn't like the sight of blood? But then again, who truly did?

He startled when cold fingers touched his skin, his cheeks, to angle his face towards the light. Credence's look of intense concentration faltered a little when he noticed that Percival was staring at him and he blushed under the scrutiny, but that didn't keep him from dabbing the gash on his nose with the cotton pad. Percival hissed at the light sting.

"Sorry..." Credence whispered, moving to the slash across his eyebrow.

Percival didn't utter a word as the young man took care of him, an oddity that had never happened before. Injuries on the field, although undesired and unpleasant, weren't uncommon but he had never had a partner to tend to them. Usually, he either did it himself, or waited until his mission was completed to go to the hospital. The current situation unsettled him in its novelty.

Credence cleaned the cuts on his face, his ears, his hands. His gestures were calm, efficient, trying to inflect as little pain as he could, gentle. Always. He didn't speak, except to apologise when Percival hissed a second time, and the only sounds around them came from their breathings, soft and quiet.

"Where have you learned to take care of someone like this?" Percival asked after a few minutes of silence. "Are you in med school?"

"No," Credence answered on a low tone. "I study law."

Oh, right. The notes on the Constitution, on the desk.

"I..." the boy added. "I used to need this sort of care when I was... younger. I had to learn."

Percival wasn't sure to understand what Credence meant, until he caught sight of the young man's palms as they brushed a few strands of hair out of his face to clean a cut on his forehead. The boy stilled when the older man wrapped his fingers around his wrist and stared at his open hand. Scars, thin and pale, ran inside his palm in an intricate web; they looked old but all Percival could notice was how they didn't look accidental. He blanched. Someone had wanted to damage the soft skin there. Someone had made sure to leave a mark.

"Who did this to you?" he asked.

Credence slipped his hand out of Percival's loose hold and gave him a tight smile.

"My foster mother," he said softly. "Years ago. It doesn't matter anymore, she can no longer hurt me."

"How old are you?" Percival enquired, trying to control the anger he felt inside him at the thought that someone had wanted to hurt such a sweet and gentle boy.

"Twenty-one. Please, Mister Graves, can we not talk about this? I... I don't like to. Just know that I'm free now."

"I... Okay," Percival agreed, although begrudgingly. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I apologise."

"Thank you."

Credence kept working in silence after that, while Percival's brain couldn't shut up. He felt even guiltier now, for involving in this mess a boy who had been through so much in his short life already. As he watched the young man from the corner of his eye, taking care of him in the ways he had tended to his own wounds, soft and delicate, so trusting and close to the man who had put a gun under his jaw, he felt his heart tighten in his chest. Suddenly, Percival wasn't sure whether breaking into Credence's house had been the best or the worst decision of his life.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here comes the fourth chapter... I'm really grateful for the support you have shown this story so far, so I hope you will like this new chapter! ;)

  


Wednesday 1st of February, 10:43pm

Lying on the couch in the back of the bakery, his mouth slightly parted and his dark hair falling in front of his closed eyes, Credence was asleep. Remains of his and Percival's sugary meal still laid on the table, an half-eaten slice of pie that the younger man had felt too tired to finish and a weird-looking little pastry that Credence had called a _niffler_ , whatever the hell it might be.

Percival had been staring at the sleeping boy for several minutes, unable to advert his eyes from him. While Credence looked fragile when he was awake, a little ragged and scared, right now the boy looked at peace as he rested, oblivious to the weight of Percival's gaze on him. He looked so young... He _was_ so young, exactly twelve years younger than him and around the same age as Percival had been for his first CIA mission, his first kill.

When he was his age, Percival had already lost every ounce of innocence he once possessed. He had seen the harsh realities of the world, he had killed and done what his job required of him. He tended not to truly trust anyone but himself. Credence... In spite of the awful events Percival understood he had been through in the past, he could still see the innocence in this boy, a sort of purity that had survived the fire, and an amazing willingness to trust. This boy deserved so much better - better than a night ruined by a CIA agent who couldn't pick another house to steal a fucking laptop.

Credence shivered in his sleep and his slim body rolled closer to the back of the couch, as if in search for warmth. Slowly, as silently as he could not to wake up the boy, Percival stood up and grabbed his coat, quickly checking the pockets to make sure that nothing dangerous was still buried there. He found his knife, which he slipped in his belt, and his gun was already on the small table. It was safe. He didn't make the slightest noise as he tiptoed toward Credence and with the same care as he had approached him, the man covered the sleeping figure with his thick coat.

He watched him for a few more seconds, engraving in his memory the way the boy sighed in contentment and cuddled with his new blanket so that only the top of his ears and his dark mop of hair were visible. Percival quickly adverted his eyes.

In spite of the exhaustion he could feel down to his bones and the soreness in his muscles, the man didn't even think of sleeping like Credence. Too many questions were floating around his mind, too many unknown answers that maybe he would find in the files that laid on the table, amongst the leftovers of pie and cake. With a sigh, Percival took the sheets of paper and sat down to start on his reading, trying not to feel too gloomy already at the thought that half the MI6 file was missing.

On one side, there was the file given to him by Grindelwald; on the other side, five pages that he supposed were truthful, from the MI6. Percival knew the first one from memory but he guessed he could consider all that knowledge as crap, now, a bunch of lies told to make him believe that Dumbledore truly posed a threat to the United States. And he would have barged right into that room at the Grand Hyatt, full of righteous intentions, and he would have shot the agent without a hint of hesitation.

For a second, he wondered why his superior had ordered his arrest before he could kill the man... If Grindelwald had planned all this, if he wanted to take him down, why hadn't he waited until Percival had eliminated Dumbledore, at least to convince more people that he was the bad guy? Did Grindelwald happen to care just a little about the British agent's life? Well, probably not. His superior wasn't known for his good heart. Maybe the idea of Percival, alone and desperate, hanging onto the thought that he was innocent, pleased him. Whatever the reason, it didn't change the arising question that had been haunting Percival for the past few hours: why him? Why, of all the agents working for the CIA, had Grindelwald chosen him specifically?

Although unable to find a proper explanation right now, perhaps he could answer a few other questions. On the first page of the MI6 file, Albus Dumbledore was smiling at him. He easily recognised the picture of the fifty-something-year-old man, as he had seen it before, when he first read about this agent in Grindelwald's office. He remembered thinking that the man didn't look dangerous, what with his half-moon glasses and his gentle smile. He reminded him of Tina, somehow... A good person, full of love and understanding, who probably had chosen the wrong job. And yet, Tina was good at it. Maybe Dumbledore was as well.

He focused back on the file and skipped the indications about the man's height, eye colour, and other details that he didn't give a fuck about, to finally get to the good part. Percival's heart felt heavier the more he read: just as he'd feared when he had first seen the document on the screen of Credence's laptop, this Dumbledore was not some random agent that Grindelwald wanted to get rid of for an obscure reason, not at all. All he could read in this file screamed that he had been one of the bests in his youth - sniper, strategist, undercover, you name it - and he probably still was. Although Percival didn't find many details about his missions, most of which were certainly highly classified - not unlike his own - he discovered that Dumbledore had travelled a lot between London and the States these past few weeks. New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC, New York again, Edinburgh, New York, London, New York... For a British agent, Dumbledore sure spent a lot of time in America these days. And he was back again tonight... What for?

His eyes narrowed. New York, Philadelphia, Washington DC... He knew this pattern. A few weeks ago, he'd represented the Department of Security during the meeting with Seraphina Picquery, the Directress of the CIA, instead of Grindelwald who, reportedly, went on a business trip. Percival was almost sure that in his explanatory note, his superior had jotted down the names of two different hotels (one in Philadelphia and the other in DC) as well as the rooms phone numbers, so that he could contact Grindelwald in case of an emergency. He couldn't be totally certain of the exact days but the dates on Dumbledore's file matched with the ones he thought he remembered.

This couldn't be a coincidence, it was too big. Both men going to the same places and a few weeks later, one of them sending an agent on a secret mission to kill the other? Dumbledore and Grindelwald had met, there was no other explanation. Or was one running after the other? But who ran after whom? And why?

The beginning of a headache was hammering behind his eyelids, pulsing painfully. He had never wished for all of this, he didn't want to dabble in Dumbledore's and Grindelwald's business and yet, everything he found in the files brought him back to these two: besides the places they had both visited at the same time, it seemed like their interactions went back a long way... On the last printed page, he discovered a list of Dumbledore's missions, starting from the early nineties - he must have been twenty-five, maybe thirty at the time - and one codename caught his attention.

2005, Mission Nurmengard. Percival remembered it, although he had not been part of the intervention team since it was his first year as a CIA agent back then, and the stakes were too high to send a newbie, no matter how good his testing results. Nurmengard was a famous name though and he'd heard more than once people talk about it with admiration. That mission had involved CIA and MI6 agents alike, a rare occurrence of collaboration between the two countries, and one of them had been Gellert Grindelwald. He and an agent from the MI6, whom Percival supposed was no other than Albus Dumbledore himself, went undercover several months to infiltrate a terrorist organisation and bring it down, dismantling illegal drugs and arms trades, and even preventing an ambitious attack against the White House. Needless to say, they had been highly decorated for their exploits and Percival believed that soon after Nurmengard, Grindelwald had been promoted to Head of the CIA Department of Security.

So, he must have known Dumbledore very well. It could explain the travels to Philadelphia and DC - old friends trying to reunite? - but not why he would wish for the Brit's death before cancelling the order and getting Percival in trouble. Unless...

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his eyes widening as a sudden thought hit him.

In his office, Grindelwald had portrayed Dumbledore like a dangerous threat. From Tina's words though, Percival had gathered that he seemed like a good man and a good agent, which meant that his colleague must have been briefed on the MI6 asset, unlike him. So, perhaps Dumbledore wasn't a terrorist but... What if there truly was a threat hiding somewhere? An imminent threat that no one would see coming because they were too busy running after the man who had tried to kill Dumbledore? And he was that man.

Percival stood up, suddenly nervous, and strode to the front of the bakery, where he glanced outside through the facade windows. A few cars were driving down the avenue. A couple passed by, holding hands, soon followed by a runner. Nothing unusual. No helicopter, no Grindelwald in sight. He was safe.

As he returned to the back, he tried to keep his breathing under control, as well as his urge to hit something: he didn't want to trouble Credence's sleep. The boy deserved some rest, he'd had enough of a stressful evening already and he didn't need to see Percival all worked up. Not to mention that after what the boy had implied regarding his past, he didn't wish to seem violent in any way that would frighten the young man or remind him of bad things.

Carefully, he allowed himself to prod at the corner of his mind where he'd locked his new theory, hiding there like a monster under the bed of a child: scary, with implications he was afraid to even consider. When he thought about it, he felt foolish. Yet, he could not see any other explanation, at least for now.

If - and only _if_ \- Grindelwald was a traitor and had hoped that Percival would take the blame instead of him, he'd got another thing coming. As much as he wished that this was a huge misunderstanding, Percival knew that nobody accidently ordered an MI6 agent's death and certainly not someone as smart as his superior. He had done all of this on purpose and Percival was certain that there must also be a reason to explain why he was the one in this situation. It could not just be bad luck.

Whatever the reason, it would have to wait: he had another problem to focus on at the moment, namely, how the fuck was he going to prove that he was innocent? Or half-innocent, actually, since he had stolen a bike and a car, attacked a CIA agent and shot at several others, and he had also broken into a house and kidnapped a civilian. Well... At least, they could scratch terrorist off the list.

The only solution he could think of at the moment was to find documents that would incriminate Grindelwald and would not give him the tiniest possibility to deny the facts written there. Problem number one? If these files existed, the only way to get them would be to hack into the man's personal computer at the office, where Percival was certain that he would find what he was looking for. Problem number two? It meant actually entering the CIA building, which would probably give him a hard time, considering that almost every living soul at the office had been made aware of his so-called betrayal. Great.

And even if he managed to make it to Grindelwald's office, his superior would be there and Percival wouldn't have the tiniest chance of getting close to his computer... He had to find a way to get most people out of the building, including the head of his department.

But how did one get five hundred people out as quickly as possible?

Percival froze. Oh. Oh! Maybe... Maybe he had a plan, he thought with a grin. He would need some help though and he wasn't sure that the man he was thinking to call would agree to do that, but... Maybe. It was too late to call him anyway, so Percival decided to wait until morning came: at least, Newt wouldn't be in a bad mood because a phone call had woken him up in the middle of the night.

He really, really hoped that calling Newt Scamander wouldn't turn out to be a mistake... Actually, he already knew that it was a bad, bad idea, considering the man's relation to a certain person, but who else could he ask for help? Maybe Newt would accept to hear him out before he called their friends from the CIA and told them everything about his (terrible) plan.

Percival flinched when Credence let out a soft grumble in his sleep, tangling his legs into the agent's coat as he rolled around, stilling at the edge of the couch. Suddenly, he envied the boy for his ability to fall asleep right then and there, and he thought that maybe he should try to get some sleep as well. What else could he do anyway? Newt was asleep and he couldn't call him, he'd read the files thoroughly and if he racked his brain any longer, he felt like he was going to combust.

He heaved a deep sigh when he dropped on the chair and shimmied down to lean back more comfortably, crossing his arms against his chest; Percival waited, hoping to fall asleep quickly, but of course now he was wide awake. Just great. To say that in front of him, Credence was sleeping like a baby...

Percival didn't mean to stare. Really, he didn't. He could not advert his eyes though, could not look away from the pale cheeks, the sharp jaw, the long eyelashes that casted shadows upon his skin, the parted lips, plump and soft-looking. Credence was attractive but somehow, Percival doubted that the boy realised that. He should stop right there, though: he didn't think it would be wise to go further down that trail of thoughts. And he was supposed to sleep, for fuck's sake!

  


  


Thursday 2nd of February, 4:37am

Percival didn't usually dream or, as Tina liked to tell him, maybe he never remembered his dreams once he woke up. Perhaps he was too light a sleeper, he couldn't get deep enough to enable his subconscious to actually conjure up images during his short nights. This time though, as he dozed off, he thought he could see a young man, strangely looking like the one asleep on the couch, except that he was even paler than Credence, thinner, and a dark shadow was surrounding him, swirling in a hiss. _Don't let her hurt me_ , the boy pleaded, _don't let her..._

A key turned into a lock.

Percival was awake in a second, jumping on his feet and moving so quickly that he actually startled Credence out of his slumber. The boy looked around helplessly, disoriented, an easy target for a killer, and the older man pressed a finger to his own lips to make him understand that he had to stay silent. Credence nodded, finally realising that something was wrong, and he stood up to step right behind Percival, unarmed but shielded by the stronger and bigger body. He remained completely quiet, still wrapped in the agent's coat.

Now, Percival could hear footsteps. His right hand slipped to his belt and he wrapped his fingers around the grip of his knife while he listened to every sound coming from the front of the bakery. Where they being robbed? That would be the worst joke ever.

"Mister Graves," Credence whispered against his shoulder, "Wait..."

"Shhh..." the older man shushed him without looking around, keeping his voice low but not unkind. "Stay quiet. Don't even breathe."

"No," Credence insisted, this time holding onto the other's wrist, "This is Jac..."

The lights were suddenly turned on and Percival hissed as they blinded him, coaxing him into turning his head to avoid the harsh luminosity. His forehead bumped gently into Credence's nose.

"What the... What?" a voice exclaimed in surprise. "Credence? What are you doing here? And who is this...?"

Percival wanted to take a step forward to place himself between the unidentified threat and the young man, but Credence held him back and came forward instead of him.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Kowalski," he started, "My friend and I..."

"Is that the guy from the television?" Jacob Kowalski suddenly asked, eyes round with surprise - or horror?

Finally used to the light, Percival looked the man up and down, quickly analysing him: short wavy hair, a nice waistcoat, a gentle face, bags of flour in his arms, ready to bake the pies and cakes of the day. Harmless. Kind. And probably terrified by everything unusual that happened to him, read: CIA agent gone rogue seeking shelter in his bakery with his young hostage. Percival could tell the man was about to scream - or faint?

Before he could help the man and knock him out himself though, Credence exclaimed:

"Yes! Wait, no! He's... Mister Graves is not dangerous, Mister Kowalski, I swear! We... We had to find a place to sleep tonight and I thought... I'm so sorry, please don't call 911!"

"Are you his accomplice?" Jacob asked then scoffed, clearly not believing his own words. "What is going on?"

"Sit down, Kowalski," Percival finally said, on a tone that clearly meant that the baker shouldn't argue with him. "And relax, I'm not going to hurt you."

Jacob tightened his grip on his flour bags, as if he was protecting his babies, but he complied nonetheless and sat on Percival's chair.

"To make it short," the agent told him, "I'm on the run. I guess you've watched the news? Just know that everything they said about me is a lie and that I'm trying to prove that I'm innocent. Clear?"

"Yes," Jacob squeaked, before glancing at Credence in worry. "But how are you involved in this? Are you okay?"

Percival smiled, although the baker didn't see it, too focused on his young employee. So Jacob was worried about the boy? He liked that guy.

"He's my hostage," he explained.

"Your what?! Oh my God, Credence! Are you okay, kid? Did he hurt you?"

"No, no!" the younger man exclaimed, shaking his head almost violently in his haste to clear up the situation. "Mister Graves saved my life! They wanted to shoot him through the windows even though I was right there, and he protected me! He..."

"Alright, alright," Percival interrupted Credence as gently as he could, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. Now, Mister Kowalski, are you going to stay calm and not call the cops or should I tie you up?"

"I'm calm," Jacob immediately answered, his eyes widening at the prospect of being a prisoner in his own bakery. "I'm cool as a cucumber, I swear."

"Good."

"Ah, hey, can I ask a question?" the baker started with hesitation, suddenly noticing the gun on the table. "Am I allowed to bake and open the shop? I mean, people will arrive at eight and if they see the shop closed, maybe they'll worry and..."

"Yes," Percival agreed, "You will open your shop and act like you usually do. Same opening and closing hours, same behaviour, everything must be the same. The cops might come to see you and ask if you've heard about your employee who went missing yesterday night. You haven't seen him since yesterday, he didn't call you, you've never seen us here. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Jacob assured him with a nod. "I've never seen you, we've never had this conversation. I don't even know your name, Mister Graves. I... I mean..."

Percival sighed, raising his hands to rub his temples. He could still feel the headache from earlier, not tamed by his four short hours of sleep.

"You'll have to do better than that if they come," he stated. "But for now, do... whatever it is you have to do in a bakery."

Jacob nodded in earnest and hightailed it to the kitchen, where he put his beloved flour on the counter and immediately started to take bowls and whips out of the closets, eggs and milk out of the fridge. In a rustle of fabric, Credence took off Percival's coat and approached the agent with a faint blush on his cheeks.

"You looked cold," Percival felt compelled to explain, his voice strangely rough, as Credence gave him his coat back.

"Oh. T... Thank you."

The boy escaped to the kitchen but Percival could swear his blush had spread to his neck.

"May I help you, Mister Kowalski?" he heard Credence ask softly.

"Sure, kid, sure," Jacob answered, a little nervous. "Say, are you sure that you're okay? If you're not, I can try to..."

"I'm fine, I swear," the boy assured him. "I was telling the truth, Mister Kowalski, and not just because Mister Graves was behind me: he truly is a good person. I'm sure of that."

Percival could not listen any longer. He didn't know how to feel about Credence's words because he would never picture himself as a good guy. Sure, there were far worse people in the world but... He had killed - for his job, _fine_ , and he and his fellow undercover agents tended not to question their actions when they knew that a kill was inevitable, but still. They had taken lives, all of them. They did it to protect their country, sure, and without them perhaps the world would be a little more fucked up than it already was, but it didn't change the fact that Percival had blood on his hands. Most of the people he had felt close to enough to explain what his job truly involved had not appreciated his honesty very much.

That, plus the fact that he was a workaholic, explained why he'd only had one serious relationship over the past ten years. Even then, his boyfriend had eventually left him, because handling a CIA agent was apparently too much for him. Well, if Percival had only collected data for the organisation, like most agents did, it would probably have been fine. However, his dangerous life and the blood on his hands were burdens that his boyfriend hadn't been willing to carry with him.

That, he understood. He didn't like it, of course, but he knew that some people just couldn't close their eyes and it was fine by him - harsh too, but he'd had eleven years to get used to the fact. What he didn't understand though, was how Credence still considered him a good person in spite of the dangers he'd run as soon as Percival had stepped through his door.

  


  


Thursday 2nd of February, 7:01am

The bakery smelled so good Percival felt his mouth water, even more so when he peeked into the kitchen and noticed the fruity pies, the chocolate cakes and the enormous cookies that were the size of his hand.

"Breakfast?" Jacob suggested with hesitation when he caught sight of him, "Credence and I usually have breakfast together when he works in the morning, so... You could join us? If you want to?"

Percival almost turned down the invitation - that was before he noticed the three plates with fresh croissants and Credence, handing him a mug with a spoon.

"Careful," the boy said softly, "It's hot."

The older man nodded his thanks and took the mug from him, frowning in curiosity as he saw the amount of whipped cream on top. Hence the teaspoon, he assumed. Slowly, he gathered as much cream as he could on his spoon and swallowed it down with a sip of his drink. His eyes widened. Hot chocolate. God, he hadn't drunk one of those in years! He usually ran on coffee, skipped meals, and certainly never took the time to make himself something as sweet, warm and heart-warming as a hot chocolate with a hint of cinnamon.

He wanted to thank Credence properly but as he lifted his head and saw him, he froze. The boy, unlike him, didn't bother to remove the whipped cream first, no: he simply took a sip from his own cup and when he set it down on the counter next to his plate, he had a bit of cream on the top of his nose. Oh fuck, he was cute.

Percival's mug clicked against the counter when he put it down too quickly, almost clumsily, and he tried hard not to watch Credence's face fall in concern.

"Mister Graves..." the boy started.

"I need to make a phone call," he interrupted him. "Is there a phone in here?"

"Certainly," Jacob answered him, "At the front."

Without a single word, Percival walked out of the kitchen, keeping his mind focused on what he was going to tell Newt and not on Credence's cute face. Once he'd reached the phone, he dialled Scamander's number without a second thought and prayed that his girlfriend had already left for work.

"Hello?" a very British, very male and also sleepy voice answered.

"Newt!" Percival exclaimed, "Hey, is Tina there?"

"Uh? No, she left ten minutes ago to... Why, who is this?"

"Percival Graves."

There was a short, heavy silence, and Percival almost regretted his idea, until he heard a deep sigh.

"I suppose you expect me to lie to Tina about this call?" Newt asked, apparently more awake now.

"Technically, no," the other mumbled, "I only ask you to not mention it."

"Same thing," Newt groaned. "Why are you even calling? Where are you?"

"Uh-uh," Percival tutted, "I'm not going to answer that. Listen, I'm not guilty of..."

"I knew it!" the Brit shouted, his unexpected cry of joy piercing Percival's eardrums, "I told Tina that you couldn't be a traitor, we know you! She was so worried, but then you decided to take an hostage and... Good Lord, you haven't killed him, have you? I'm warning you, Percival, I am not helping you to bury a body, I..."

"Newt, hey!" he exclaimed in annoyance. "Focus! I need your help, but not for that."

New silence, but this time it gave out a vibe of surprise.

"I need to sneak into Grindelwald's office," he explained when he didn't hear anything else.

"Are you crazy?!" Newt asked - or just declared, that wasn't clear. "Why on earth would you even want to get close to the CIA right now? And how are you planning on doing that? As soon as they'll see your face, you'll be dead! How am I even supposed to help you?"

"Breathe, Newt," Percival enjoined him. "I have a plan."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment, I'd love to know what you're thinking about this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here I go with the fifth chapter, hoping that you will like it! Thank you, all of you, for reading this story, for the many subscriptions, for the bookmarks, kudos and comments. Those make my day, thank you!

  


Thursday 2nd of February, 7:39am

"You want me to what?!" Credence exclaimed, looking at Percival as if he was crazy - why was everyone wondering? First Newt, now him...

"Calm down," he told the boy gently, glancing at Jacob who was busy laying his pastries in the display counters and trying very hard not to listen to them.

It was better that the baker knew nothing of their - well, his, really - plan: if the cops or worse, the CIA, showed up at his shop, Percival would prefer that Jacob was not caught lying to their faces. And what better way to not lie than knowing nothing at all, uh? Plus, the baker was a terrible liar, they would know as soon as he would open his mouth that there was something fishy going on.

"I know this is a lot, Credence," Percival whispered to the boy, "and you have done so much for me already. If all goes well, this is the last thing I will require of you. Then, you will be free to go."

Credence flinched at the words as if they had burnt him, although Percival didn't understand why: the boy was supposed to be glad, wasn't he? He would finally go back home and never hear from the agent again... But the prospect of sending the boy away made Percival's heart tighten in his chest with unexpected emotion. Oh, fuck.

"How would that work?" Credence eventually answered on the same low tone, shaking the agent out of his thoughts. "How do I enter the CIA building and find Tina without being..."

 _Arrested or shot_. The boy didn't say the actual words but Percival could read him like an open book. Credence was scared - but who wouldn't? Still, perhaps this was too much to ask for.

"Listen," the agent said gently, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "If you don't want to do it, it's fine. I understand. I'll find another way."

"No, I..." Credence shook his head and cleared his throat. "I want to help you. Just... Walk me through this. Please?"

Percival stared at the boy, weighing his decision. Was it a good idea? No. Did he need the boy? Yes. Did he want to put him in this position? No. But he really had no one else he could trust and... Yeah, he did trust Credence. The boy had helped him more than he'd expected him to, providing him with shelter, food and hot fucking chocolate, which was more than he deserved and more than anyone else would have done for him. He owed the boy. However, sending him to the CIA and possibly making him his accomplice didn't qualify as returning a favour, not really.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

Credence didn't even blink, just kept looking at Percival as if he owned all the answers. The agent sighed, defeated, and prayed that he was not making a huge mistake.

"I'm going to sneak into my superior's office," he explained, "and I don't want Tina to be there while it happens. She's my friend - or was, I don't know - and if Grindelwald hears that she was in the building while I was there, he might think she helped me. I don't want to put her in this position."

Credence nodded, then he hesitated.

"Are you always this selfless?" he wondered aloud.

"Selfless?" Percival chocked, eyes wide with astonishment. "Are you serious? I kidnapped you, I stole a bike and a car, I left a woman alone in a tunnel, I broke into a bakery... Do I need to keep going?"

"You protected me," Credence shot back, a bit vehement in his words, "You never hurt me and you left the other car to that woman. Now, you want to make sure that your colleague, who's not even on your side anymore, doesn't get tangled in a bad situation. Also, I had a key, so technically, you didn't break into anything... None of this sounds selfish to me."

Eyes wide with shock at this outburst, Percival didn't answer - he didn't know how to. Credence would not convince him that he was completely innocent but it felt good, refreshing, to have someone on his side who didn't need nor want to hear what he had to say in his own defence.

"Thank you," he rasped, voice rough with an emotion he could not name.

This time, Credence was the one to squeeze Percival's shoulder. While the agent's gentle gesture had exuded confidence and a willingness to reassure the boy, Credence's was softer, his fingertips almost hesitant to apply pressure on the man's skin, even through the fabric of Percival's shirt. He had a feeling that Credence had never had the occasion to touch someone else or be touched with care and not violence. He would be glad if he could change that, even if only a little.

Credence cleared his throat and dropped his hand.

"So?" he added. "How do I find Tina?"

"With this," Percival merely said, handing the boy his CIA card. "This will give you a direct access to the building, you won't even have to go through the security portal. You will get in through the employees entrance, not the visitors one, thus no one should pay you much attention."

"Employees entrance," Credence whispered to himself, eyes narrowed in concentration as he engraved Percival's instructions into his mind. "And then?"

"Find Queenie Goldstein," the agent added. "She is Tina's sister, she works at the front desk. You can't miss her, she's a pretty blonde girl, always smiling... You will tell her to call her sister down, because you have important information to share with her."

"About you?" Credence guessed.

Percival nodded, glad to see that it didn't take long for the boy to catch on. He was smart and brave, scared but willing to transcend his fear. Maybe, in another life, he could have made a great agent, with proper training... Although Percival would rather have Credence live his life without any interference from the CIA, studying law and baking pastries with Jacob in peace.

"Try to get her out of the building," Percival advised him. "Tell her you can show her irrefutable proof of what you're saying, but outside."

"But..." Credence protested, "I don't. You are not even guilty of half the things they say!"

"I know that... And you know it too, which is enough for now. Come with me, Credence."

Percival took a few steps further into the back of the bakery and stopped next to the small table, nearly invisible under the dozen sheets of paper, the plates and the crumbles of pie and biscuits. The agent gathered together the file that he had been given by his superior, ages ago it seemed, and he handed the whole rolled document to the boy, who reached out with hesitation.

"Give it to Tina," Percival enjoined him. "When she reads this, she will understand that something's definitely wrong with Grindelwald."

"Okay..." the boy whispered, "Get in, find Queenie, call Tina, get out. Where should I go then? Should I come back here and wait for you?"

Percival faltered. Credence should not even suggest to wait for him, he should run away as far from him as humanly possible and pray that nothing bad would happen to him after he'd helped a fugitive. Even if said fugitive wasn't guilty, Credence knew a lot and perhaps too much about the CIA business and the fraud of Grindelwald... Another agent would have made sure that they were not compromised by this kid, however helpful he had been. Percival could not. He refused to harm the boy in any way, no matter what he knew. Credence had been through enough already.

"Yes," Percival agreed, although reluctantly. "After all, this is where you work. When I'm done in Grindelwald's office, I will meet you here and we will see where to go from there. Alright?"

Credence nodded, tightening his grip around the file ever so slightly, careful not to crush the paper under his fingers.

"How long do you think you'll need to complete your mission?" the agent asked.

The peculiar phrasing escaped him and it took him a few seconds to realise that he was acting with Credence exactly as he would with a fellow agent under his command; he had to take a step back and remind himself that the boy was not a professional, that he should not even be there in the first place.

Well, asking how much time Credence needed was better than imposing a precise timing, one that maybe would turn out to be too tight for him and make the pressure he already felt on his shoulders grow even more.

"I... I don't know?" Credence blurted out, slight panic visible in his eyes, that dropped to his shoes and the floor. "Ten, fifteen minutes? How... How could I know something like that?"

Percival swore under his breath when he understood that Credence was scared to disappoint him if he wasn't fast enough or messed up the whole job. He should never have placed that burden upon such frail shoulders - and he didn't mean that in a bad way. Credence was strong, he knew as much, for it took a strong person to go through what the boy had experienced in his short life, but it didn't make him spy material in a snap of his fingers.

Percival cupped the boy's face between his hands and gently coaxed him into lifting his head.

"Hey..." he whispered, "It's alright."

"Sorry," Credence mumbled, "I'm just nervous. I... I don't want to fail you."

"You won't," the agent told him with conviction, hoping to convey his own assurance into Credence's body. "I trust you."

A beautiful flush spread across the boy's cheeks and the bridge of his nose, making him look away in pleased shyness. He looked gorgeous.

"I can give you twenty minutes," Percival quickly said, clearing his throat as if it would help him clear his mind as well. "After that, you'd better be out of the building... Before Newt makes his move."

"And what will that be?"

Only an enigmatic grin answered the boy's curiosity.

  


  


Thursday 2nd of February, 10:42am

Percival watched Credence walk into the CIA building with a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach, that was churning with concern as the agent mentally enumerated everything that could go wrong in the span of twenty minutes. What if his so-dear colleagues had removed his card from the database? What if Credence couldn't get in and, which would be worse, draw the guards' attention on him? If the boy was caught, he still had a chance of passing as Percival's unlucky hostage who'd managed to run away in order to seek help - but anyone who had ever heard of Percival fucking Graves knew that he was not one to make mistakes and accidentally release his only leverage.

Anyone competent enough would understand that Credence was there for a purpose that served Percival's cause. Hopefully, the boy would make it to the front desk without trouble - but even so, there was a risk that Queenie was not working this day: what if she'd gotten sick? Or went on her break?

From his spot at the corner of a street across the building, Percival grabbed the edge of his hat, which he had borrowed from Jacob Kowalski, and tugged it deeper on his head. He was glancing every second or so at the CIA building, eyes narrowed to slits like a cat's in broad daylight as he followed the lines and windows of the edifice and its right corner, then the perpendicular street. His interests lay in the inconspicuous door that he knew one would find there if attentive enough.

It was the ancient main employees entrance, before they extended the building and designed a brand new facade entirely made of glass (a damned security hazard, if you asked Percival.) Nowadays, with the main doors on the other side of the edifice, no one used this entrance anymore save for late incomers who didn't want to lose time in the queue at the front. It posed fewer risks for Percival to get inside without being spotted by an overzealous co-worker and, more importantly, only CIA cards bearers were granted access; there were no guards on duty there, unlike the current main doors that allowed both employees and temporary visitors in, thus requiring a high number of guards to prevent anything from happening in the hall.

Well, the only problem was that Percival had given his card to Credence, which was exactly why he was waiting on his spot, acutely staring at the door and counting every minute that passed without a redheaded man walking out.

Newt had better not bail on him now, or else...

The door suddenly opened and a man stepped out of the building in a light bounce, blue coat on his shoulders and grin so wide that Percival could see it clearly, even from afar. Groaning at Newt's apparent excitement, the agent crossed the street at a leisured pace, acting as if he had all the reasons in the world to be there, and he finally came to his friend's level.

"Well, well, well," the Brit greeted him with a warm smile, "If this isn't our great escapee! The whole office is talking about you, wondering how you managed to slip through our nets. How did you?"

"I'm not going to reveal my little secrets," Percival scoffed, and directly changed the topic. "So, are you ready?"

"Very much so," Newt said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "This is the most excitement I've had at the office in the past year, I can't wait to start!"

"You..." Percival started, suddenly a bit scared that Newt had brought his own twist to the plan, "You do know that I only asked you to trigger the fire alarms, right?"

"Yes, of course," Newt answered, although his suddenly shifty eyes and dismissive hand gesture didn't reassure Percival much. "Don't worry."

The agent chose not to argue, although he was certain that Newt had altered his plan. But he couldn't start bitching now, not when they were about to enter the building and should be careful not to be heard or seen - or, well, Percival should. He was not supposed to be there.

Newt, however, had every right to be, as a proud worker of the Directorate of Science and Technology - meaning, the CIA branch of nerds in charge of developing the tech that would increase their efficiency and give better results in intelligence gathering.

Percival had never really liked science and his job didn't require of him to know much about the actual work the members of the scientific branch were doing; plus, it was always better not to know too much about one another's work. Seraphina Picquery liked to compartmentalise. However, as Newt's friend, Percival was aware of some of the man's skills - hacking, mainly.

At first, when he had come up with his plan, he had thought that Newt could help him to hack from a distance into Grindelwald's personal computer. His superior was sly as a fox though and he had foreseen the situation; as a result, the only way to access the computer's data was through the private server Grindelwald had set up in his office, which was different from the CIA server that everyone else used in the agency. Now, hacking the CIA server was not an easy task, so a private server... Percival had to enter Grindelwald's office and gather the files the old fashioned way, on a USB flash drive.

On the phone, Newt had been so eager to help that he had suggested to get in the damn office himself, so that Percival could steer clear of the building and all the people tracking him down. The agent had refused. If someone caught the Brit sneaking into Grindelwald's office... He would be fired - or worse. Percival did not wish that to anyone, especially not one of his rare friends... No matter how dangerous it would be for him to get the compromising intelligence he wanted by himself.

As Newt shoved his CIA card in front of the detector to open the door, Percival was reminded of Credence's words from earlier: the boy thought he was selfless. Perhaps he was right.

The two men entered the building and let the door snap shut behind them, then Percival got rid of his long coat and his hat, that he threw on a close table in the hallway, on top of the leaflets about gun safety and protocols in the building. If everything went well, he would take them back after he was done and before he fled.

"I promised Credence he would get his twenty minutes," Percival told his friend as he checked his watch. "He still has eight minutes left."

"All right," Newt said with a nod. "Then I shall start in exactly ten minutes. You'd better get going, you have a bit of travelling to do."

"I know," Percival groaned. "Hey, if we don't see each other again after I'm done... Thanks for your help, Newt."

"You're welcome," the redhead answered, taking the other man in his arms for a brief but warm embrace. "What are friends for, right?"

The agent nodded, then watched his ally walk away, heading for the elevators in the newest quarters of the building. Just before Newt took a turn in another hallway on the left, the young man stopped and whipped his head around.

"Oh, by the way..." he started with an innocent smile that Percival knew too well to believe it was genuine. "If I were you, I would avoid the west wing while I'm going away from Grindelwald's office."

"What? Why?" the agent asked, before a horrible thought popped in his mind. "Newt... Don't tell me that you intend to really start a fire in here?"

"Well, not quite," the other man answered, his smile turning into a bright grin. "Good luck, Percy!"

Percival harrumphed: he hated that nickname and Newt damn well knew it. He didn't have time to waste on that old argument though and he quickly made his way to the closest staircase. He would find Grindelwald's office on the fifth floor, east wing, but Percival didn't plan on going all the way up there taking the stairs, oh no. It was too dangerous, anyone could see him - and even though it would take him five seconds at most to grab his loaded gun at his side, or his knife in his belt, he would rather not harm anyone today.

Luckily, he didn't meet anyone in the stairway to the second floor. As he headed for one of the many meeting rooms on this floor though, he heard footsteps in the hallway and had to hide around a corner, praying that whoever was there wouldn't come his way. He could feel cold sweat wetting his forehead as he waited with his fingers wrapped around his gun, holding his breath and hoping that no one would notice him.

A woman he did not recognise passed right in front of his hiding place, leaving in her wake a fruity perfume that tickled Percival's nose and nearly made his sneeze. He was impressed with himself when he didn't and he quickly checked his surroundings before he hurried down the hallway. A quick glance to his watch showed him that Newt would get on with the plan in six minutes, so he ran to the closest meeting room, locking the door behind himself and keeping his fingers crossed that no one would barge in.

Hopping onto the closest chair, Percival then got up on the large table, eyes set on the ceiling and staring, as if he could see his target through the blindingly white tiles: the air vents. Now, call him a paranoid bastard, but he had always believed that a thorough knowledge of his work place set-up could come in handy - especially when working for an organisation like the CIA, you never knew when some crazy person would come and attack, or at least try to bypass the guards and hurt someone. Knowing several ways out could prove useful... Percival had just never imagined that he would be the one to launch an assault on the building.

As quickly as he could, the agent lifted the ceiling tile that would give him access to the vents and pushed it to the side, before he grabbed the edge of the tiles still held in place and hoisted himself up, twisting and bending his body so that he could crawl inside the vents.

He had three minutes until Newt hacked the electronic system and the fire alarms began blaring all over the place. People would rush out, following the protocols and leaving their offices empty, and Grindelwald would submit to the rules as well; Percival only had to crawl his way through the vents and up to his superior's office. No one would see him coming, nor leaving. It was the perfect plan.

Two minutes. He really, really hoped that Credence had managed to find Tina in time and had made it out of the building already, going back to the bakery like they had agreed on. The thought of Credence, back in the safety and comfort that Jacob's shop provided, perhaps drinking a hot chocolate, filled Percival's heart with warmth and contentment, even though he was currently doing the most clichéd thing a secret agent could do. Crawling inside the vents, seriously... If he'd known it would come down to this one day, perhaps he would have listened to grandpa Graves and become a successful lawyer instead. But he would have all the time to regret his career choices later, once he got out of these narrow vents and found his way back to Kowalski's.

Suddenly, right as Percival should have heard the blaring of the fire alarms, he heard something else entirely. There was a loud boom, and a blast, then another one, the vents around him vibrating like crazy, and then he heard the alarms. Not the shrills of the fire alarms that he expected, no, but the prolonged sounds of a siren, almost like those that announced air raids, and he suddenly understood what had just happened.

The west wing had exploded.

"For fuck's sake, Newt!"

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, let it be known that I climbed on my kitchen table and checked that I could reach the ceiling to make sure Graves could do it as well. The things I do for this story...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think about it, please ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here I am with the sixth chapter, a bit later than I thought since I got obsessed with a one-shot I absolutely needed to write. But I'm back and I hope you will enjoy this new chapter! :)

  


Thursday 2nd of February, 11:05am

Percival had always been disappointed with his height, wishing he had been a little taller than he actually was - even Credence, nothing but skin and bones, towered above him when he straightened up. Right now though, as he was crawling inside the vents, the agent felt extremely satisfied with his not-too-big frame: had he been taller, he would never have managed to travel through these narrow, sinuous vents.

Grunting and panting with every move along these horrible vents, Percival thought he owed Newt and his explosion big time: although quite radical, his plan had worked perfectly and created utter chaos in the building. People were either hurrying down the hallways or running, heels clacking on the floor, to evacuate the place and no one would pay attention to some noise coming from above their heads as Percival kept heading for Grindelwald's office.

He wondered what the extent of the explosion was, though. The damage, too. Knowing Newt, he easily imagined that the Brit had made sure that he would not harm anyone if he blew up the west wing and yet, Percival couldn't help but worry a little. He was concerned about Credence as well, hoping he had made it out safe and sound, and hopefully Tina had set her suspicions aside and followed the boy outside before the explosion: he knew that the guards would gather every single person walking out of the building in a controlled perimeter and check all ID's. If Credence was caught... They would quickly realise that he was Percival's _hostage_ \- well, sort of.

Then, they wouldn't need much time to understand that Graves himself was somewhere in the building, they would probably blame him for the explosion as well (better him than Newt, though) and start a manhunt. Even hidden in the vents as he was, Percival knew that he would have a hard time slipping through their fingers again - luck could not always be on his side.

He tried to focus on wiggling his way through the air vents instead of thinking about Credence: if he kept this up, his mind would be split in two and he wouldn't be able to carry out his mission, too worried about someone he could not help in this moment. Credence was on his own - and Percival truly hoped that the boy hadn't run in any trouble. He would never forgive himself otherwise.

The minutes he spent in this narrow place seemed to last an eternity but at last, the agent reached the spot he had been trying to get to: right above Grindelwald's office. Lying still in the vents, holding his breath, Percival listened with intent to catch even the lowest noise but he didn't hear anything, not even a whisper. The office had to be empty.

Repeating the process of lifting the ceiling tile like before, the man was quick to peek inside the office, hanging with his head upside down like a bat, and he eventually jumped down to land in the middle of the room in a crouch. As soon as he touched the floor though, he got back on his feet and strode to the door, intending to lock it from the inside, but he soon found out that the door was already closed. He frowned - did Grindelwald lock his office himself before evacuating the building like the others? They weren't supposed to. He guessed that his superior wanted to keep his dirty secrets safe...

Percival nearly ran to the desk and the computer, shaking the mouse and waiting for the black screen to light up. It didn't. The man felt disappointment sinking in the pit of his stomach as he realised that the computer had been completely turned off. That, and the locked door... Either Grindelwald had taken the time to protect his data in spite of the explosion (unlikely) or he had not been at the office today - most likely. Fuck! So Newt had blown up a wing of the building for nothing?

Well, it didn't matter. He was here now, with the computer in front of him, so he'd better get on with it. When Percival turned on the computer, of course, a page asking for a password appeared and he sighed as he sat on the chair at the desk. It would take some time, so he might as well get comfy while he cracked the password. Newt would have been able to do this in a blink of his eyes but Percival would need some more time: it wasn't his speciality, after all, but he still had to hurry up.

If Credence was caught and the guards understood that Percival was still inside the building... The first places his fellow agents would check would be his own office, thinking that perhaps he had left some compromising item or information there, or Grindelwald's office. He'd better get what he needed quickly, climb back up into the vents to escape and hope that the surveillance at the door he'd came through earlier had not increased due to the explosion.

A few minutes passed by and Percival grew anxious as the computer scrolled down an infinite list of potential passwords but didn't stop on one.

"Come on," he groaned, "I don't have all day!"

He had to collect everything he could and get the hell out of there, go back to the bakery and find Credence to make sure that the boy was fine. Shit, he should have bought two phones with prepaid cards so that they could get in touch and tell each other what was going on, even with a short text. It would have put his mind at ease while he waited...

Percival flinched when he heard footsteps and voices outside of the office. Oh, fuck, not now! He grabbed his gun, fingers tight around the grip, and listened to the sounds in the hallway; he made out three different voices at least but they were too indistinct to put a face to each one of them. He entertained the thought that perhaps these people weren't coming for him: maybe they were guards, patrolling the building to make sure that no one remained inside. Still, they were way too close for his comfort.

The doorknob shook as someone tried to open the door. Fuck!

"It's locked, Sir," Percival heard one of the people say.

"When has a closed door ever stopped us?" another asked, faintly amused.

They were about to kick down the door, he understood with a start, so the agent aimed his gun at the entrance of the room as he came closer to the wooden panel, ready to shoot whoever would step in first if they tried anything against him. There was a slim chance that they would not though, since they didn't seem to know that he was inside... Otherwise, they would have at least attempted to hide their arrival.

The door trembled under the first kick, directed to the doorknob - the weakest spot. It wouldn't take them much longer to break it down, since the doors on this floor opened inward, which meant they were at an advantage, and those were mostly made of lightweight wood: in theory, no one was supposed to reach this floor if unauthorised and there should be no risk of breaking in, even in the New York CIA base, somewhat less secure than the Langley headquarters. Well, first time for everything, right?

A second, more powerful kick hit the wooden surface and the door gave way with a bang. Two men that he didn't recognise, wearing suits and carrying a briefcase each, were standing across the threshold, looking ready to enter the room, and another one stood a bit behind them, his face hidden by the shadows of his two companions. A quick look-over told the agent that they didn't carry guns and their bewildered expressions at the sight of him confirmed that, indeed, they weren't expecting him there.

"Don't move!" Percival yelled, taking advantage of their surprise, raising his gun higher and to the top of one man's chest. "Hands above your heads, slowly!"

The two guys in front of him dropped their briefcase and complied without making a fuss, wisely noting that even though they outnumbered him, they weren't armed. He guessed that, based on his hard stare, they could also tell that he wouldn't hesitate to shoot if they gave him the slightest occasion to. However, the man at the back remained still, until he chuckled:

"Well, well... Agent Graves, I presume?"

Startled by the fact that this man, whom he didn't think he knew, was able to call him by his name, Percival lowered his gun and arched his eyebrows.

"Step forward," he said. "Who the hell are you?"

New chuckles were heard but the man did as he was told and Percival gasped as he finally recognised him, mostly thanks to his half-moons spectacles.

Standing in the office of the man who had ordered his death and in the presence of the agent who had been charged to complete this very same mission, was Albus Dumbledore himself.

  


  


Wednesday 2nd of February, 11:23am

"You?!" Percival blurted out in surprise.

"Me," the man said with a gentle smile and a nod.

"What the fuck are you even doing here?" the agent asked, before he raised his gun again as Dumbledore took a step toward him.

"Please," the man said as he stilled. "I think we should have a word now that we are face to face. Would you please lower your gun?"

"What could you possibly want to tell me?" Percival snorted. "I was meant to kill you. How do you know I'm not going to do it now?"

Dumbledore was still smiling.

"Well, Mister Graves, I reckon if that was your plan, you would have shot me already. I also believe that killing me was not your idea and that, perhaps, you are as much of a victim as I was in this situation."

This time, Percival lowered his gun, not even bothering to hide his surprise. A horrible thought popped in his mind: what if Dumbledore and Grindelwald were allies and had planned his so-called mission together?

"How do you know that?" he asked warily.

"I did not," the MI6 asset said with a shrug, "but I assumed. I landed in New York yesterday and two fellows escorted me to my hotel, where they actually kept me prisoner for the night under the pretext of protecting me from a dangerous killer - you, my dear. I only managed to slip away this morning to find nicer company. Please, let me introduce you to my two friends from the UK embassy, Horace Slughorn and Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Percival nodded at the two men, who were now standing beside Dumbledore with grim faces. They didn't look too threatening though, so he decided to remain focused on the agent.

"Still doesn't explain why you're here," he groaned.

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said - and his easy smile was starting to get on Percival's nerves. "Well, I was hoping to have a word with dear old Gellert and arrest him, but I see now that he fled before I could get here. This explains a lot."

Whatever Dumbledore thought it explained, Percival clearly didn't understand it and it showed on his face, although the other agent did not do anything to help him out. Instead, he merely pointed to the computer on the desk, possible passwords still flashing, and asked:

"Any success?"

Percival shrugged and grunted, reluctant to give out any detail - he, too, could keep to himself if he wanted. However, it didn't seem to bother Dumbledore.

"Have you tried _greater good_?" he asked out of the blue. " _Good_ with two oh's instead of letters?"

Like a robot, Percival turned to the keyboard, his mind frozen somewhere between understanding what was going on and figuring out what the hell he was supposed to do now, with Dumbledore standing in the same room as he. The whole ordeal felt surreal, even more so when the screen of the computer lit up as the system recognised the password and fleetingly flashed the message _Access granted_.

"Alright," Percival said, voice harsh, raising his gun again and ignoring Slughorn's - or Shacklebolt's? Not sure who was who - gasp, "You have exactly five seconds to explain to me how you know Grindelwald's password but still are his victim and not a friend of his. Talk, now."

"I apologise but I will need more than five seconds," Dumbledore said, calmly taking the seat in front of the desk - the cheek! "It is a long story, one I would feel more comfortable telling without a gun pointed at me."

"As I said," he groaned without budging, "Talk. Now."

He considered it a small victory that the Brit relented, adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his crooked nose, and began to speak.

"Gellert and I go back a long way," he explained first, although that was nothing new to Percival, "as we worked together on a case years ago."

"I know that. Nurmengard, back in 2005."

Dumbledore nodded, apparently pleased to see that Percival was well aware of that mission and that he didn't need to go over the details.

"We brought down the organisation," the man added, "It was a job well done, faster than we expected, and the resulting drop in criminality rates was very gratifying. Gellert and I were young, I was elated, and at that time I didn't notice a few things that should have worried me... I realised years later that this job had been done really fast, too fast perhaps, to be completely normal."

Dumbledore sighed, as if the thought caused great pain in his heart - and maybe it did. Percival wasn't sure to see where this was going though; so what if they had dealt with their mission faster than they planned to? The organisation had ceased to exist, where was the problem?

"It took me years," the Brit said again, "to realise that something was wrong, and another pair of years to realise who exactly was responsible for lots of failed mission from both the CIA and the MI6, as well as other agencies, or successful tragedies across the world. In fact, I was hoping to see him here, Mister Graves."

"Grindelwald?" Percival asked with wide eyes. "But... No, he's... Okay, so he's not the nicest person ever but a terrorist? It's..."

_Impossible_ , he wanted to say. But apparently, ever since the previous evening, _impossible_ didn't exist anymore. He needed to think. First thing first, Dumbledore didn't look like a liar - but neither did Grindelwald, whom he'd known for years, unlike this spectacled man. However, it was his superior who wanted him arrested (if not dead) and not Dumbledore. And for what? For a mission Grindelwald himself had given to Percival, enjoining him to kill the man who meant to arrest him. It smelled fishy enough to at least assume that Dumbledore was telling the truth.

Percival lowered his gun and slip it back in its holster. Slughorn and Shacklebolt seemed to relax ever so slightly.

"He was the head of Nurmengard," Dumbledore sighed, "and nothing was easier for him than preparing the second rise of the organisation while he apparently brought it down with me. Then, he became head of the CIA Department of Security and he had all the power he needed to hide his business... I spent the last few months trailing Gellert, watching his every move, gathering enough evidence to be able to arrest him. This trip to New York was supposed to put an end to his fraud but apparently, you cannot trust anyone these days: Gellert has many friends and followers, perhaps even within the MI6, for he was made aware that I was coming for him. I assume this is where you got involved, Mister Graves."

"He ordered me to kill you," Percival confirmed. "Gave me a file with pictures of you meeting known terrorists or leaders from criminal organisations... Never knew you were on Her Majesty's Secret Service before Goldstein - a fellow agent - came to arrest me."

If Dumbledore had grasped - and liked - his pun, he didn't show it but he soon turned to his two friends.

"Kingsley, would you please hand a file to Mister Graves?"

"Certainly, Sir," one of the two men said, the one who had kicked the door down.

Percival watched the tall, dark-skinned man with narrow eyes as he opened the briefcase he was carrying, noticing a gun and several bound files, one of which was given to him. The agent skimmed through it with interest, quickly realising that the pictures inside where the same he'd seen in the Dumbledore file handed over to him by his superior. Only, Grindelwald himself stood in these pictures, not the Brit. Under the photographs, in small letters, he read the dates and places where they had been taken: New York, Washington DC... It explained Dumbledore's travels: like he thought, the man had followed Grindelwald.

"So..." Percival said with a tiny frown, "Excuse me but something doesn't add up: you want to arrest Grindelwald, fine by me. But why did he order me to kill you, only to have me arrested before I could do it? I mean, he tried to arrest me, but... Well, I'm right here."

"Indeed," Dumbledore chuckled, amusement flashing in his light eyes. "Beautiful diversion by the way, if a little eccentric. As for Grindelwald... We have history together, we used to be friends, after all. Maybe he doesn't have too many of those and didn't want to kill me. However, two of his men locked me in my hotel room, probably so that I couldn't get out and meet with Seraphina Picquery like I wanted to. I believe he escaped during the night while everybody was looking for you."

"I was his diversion?" Percival asked in disbelief.

Fucking Grindelwald. He'd been shot at, had fired his gun at his own colleagues and involved an innocent boy in this mess while Grindelwald was running away so he wouldn't pay for his crimes? He nearly banged his head in the wall out of frustration.

"This is great," he groaned bitterly. "Just great. Now, how do we catch him?"

As he spoke, Percival checked the computer, in hopes to find a file or maybe something, in the browsing history, that would help him - or them, he guessed - like some sort of airline ticket booking.

"History was cleaned," he grunted, "All files erased."

Newt _really_ blew up the building for nothing, in the end. Well, at least his friend had fun.

"Too bad," Dumbledore said softly, shaking his head. "I came here in hopes to find some more information but I guess the intelligence I already gathered will be enough for your directress. And enough to redeem you of course, along with my testimony."

Percival didn't answer, not sure that whatever he was going to say would be very polite. Perhaps he ought to say thank you - Dumbledore was under no obligation to save his ass - but on the other hand, it was the Brit's fault that he'd found himself in this mess in the first place. Kind of. Of course, he wasn't responsible for the mission Grindelwald had trusted Percival with, but he was the source of this tangled situation.

At least Dumbledore would prove that he had not wanted to kill him after going rogue and that he had never betrayed the CIA, that he'd merely obeyed the orders of the wrong man, so that was something.

"Alright," Percival eventually said, with a last murderous glare to the computer. "Let's find Picquery, then."

Hopefully, Newt had not blown up her office.

  


  


Tuesday 2nd of February, 12:25pm

It turned out that Seraphina was alive, fortunately, but also pissed. Percival managed not to look guilty when she asked, screaming, if he was to blame for the explosion. _No Ma'am, it was just a coincidence_ , he answered on a firm voice, knowing that Newt was professional enough not to leave any hint regarding the identity of the person behind this.

When her anger turned onto Grindelwald though, fuelled by Dumbledore's words as well as Shacklebolt and Slughorn's endless supply of files, Percival felt relieved to be on the good side of this mess.

Eventually, she told him to leave and that she would deal with him later, but she was kind enough to announce to everyone that the CIA was dropping the charges of treason and attempted murder - however, she didn't agree to forgive his other misdeeds: house breaking, car stealing, reckless driving, blah blah blah. That, too, she would deal with later.

"Percival," she called as he was about to walk out of her office, leaving her with the three Brits, "You look terrible. Get some rest, I don't want to see you here until Friday. You won't be in charge of the investigation against Gellert Grindelwald as you are too deeply involved, but we will need you to testify. Don't leave the country."

He nodded, frustrated with her decision but also smart enough to understand that it was for the best, and left. While he was glad that he didn't have to go out the same way he'd come in, meaning in the vents, Percival wasn't too happy to walk the hallways and meet people there who, although they thankfully didn't stop him, gawked at him as he passed by. Understandably so, in fact: Seraphina did say he wasn't to hunt anymore but she carefully refrained from telling why, since it would do no good to scream from the top of the roofs that the head of the Department of Security was the bad guy. Nope. Hence the murmurs and rumours he could already hear in his wake, as people wondered what had happened.

Percival got his coat and hat back and then, he got out of the building, taking a deep breath as he did so. It felt good not to be on the run anymore, doubted and hunted by his own colleagues and friends. With a small smile, the man hailed a cab and gave the address to Kowalski's bakery, both anxious and excited to tell Credence that he was not in trouble anymore.

It also meant that the boy would be able to go home and... Go back to his simpler life. Forget what had happened this dreadful night. Forget Percival. He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched at the thought but what else would happen? Credence was a law student who should never have been involved in the CIA shit but still had done way more than was expected of him. Percival certainly owed him his life, and leaving the boy alone was the least he could do to show his gratitude, no matter how painful the decision was to make. Perhaps, if the circumstances were different, if they had not met under gunfire, if Percival didn't do this job... If, if, if. If's were useless, wouldn't change a thing.

One step at a time though, he told himself when the cabbie dropped him off. He paid the man and told him to keep the change, nodding at the overenthusiastic smile the chauffeur flashed him, and he turned to the bakery. Percival furrowed his brows when he realised that the rectangular sign hung to the middle of the glass door showed the _closed_ side, and sure enough, when he tried to push the door open, the panel resisted him.

This was not normal. Jacob had told them that morning that keeping the shop closed would look suspicious and by the time they had left, around ten o'clock, the bakery was bustling with customers. Trying to keep his cool and not imagine the worst, Percival knocked as loudly as he could in hopes that Credence or Jacob would hear him if they were at the back.

His (not) desperate knocks were heard, yes, but neither the boy nor the baker came to open the door: it was Queenie Goldstein.

"Percival!" she exclaimed once she had unlocked the door, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat to usher him inside, "Thank God you're here!"

"What are _you_ doing here, though?" the agent asked, eyes narrowing to slits like those of an angry cat.

"Long story short," she explained as she led him towards the back of the bakery, "Tina and I both left the CIA with your young friend, who explained everything on our way here. It was all confirmed when New..."

She was interrupted by a shrill cry and suddenly, Percival staggered on his feet, thrown off balance as Tina wrapped her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm so sorry!" she cried against his chest, which made the man feel supremely awkward. "I'm so sorry I doubted you, I was so stupid! I knew, deep down, that it wasn't like you to do all of this, but I... And then, Grindelwald was... God, Percival, I'm so sorry!"

"Uh," he said, patting her lightly on the shoulder before he broke free of her embrace. "Well, I'm innocent and you know it now, so can we please... What the hell happened to you?!"

He blinked in shock when Tina took a step back, revealing a swollen eye and dry blood on her upper lip. She had a wad of orange cotton stuck up her left nostril, slightly tainted with red. Looking around, he realised that the back of the shop was actually a mess: bags of flour seemed to have exploded and part of the floor was painted white with sugar. Queenie looked dishevelled, Tina had obviously been fighting, and then he noticed that Jacob Kowalski was lying down on the couch, holding a frozen towel to his head.

"Hi, Mister Graves," he uttered, voice shaky, when he met the agent's eyes.

Percival blanched when he realised that someone was missing.

"Where is Credence?" he asked darkly, feeling his every muscle tremble with trepidation.

"He's... They took him," Tina whispered, eyes wide with fear at the sight of her superior's drawn face. "We had barely arrived here and then, they jumped us, I tried to..."

"Who, Tina?" he urged her on. "Who was it? The rest of your team, those that were supposed to stop me? Picquery's men? Who, Tina?!"

His friend let out a squeak when he shouted but Percival didn't - couldn't - feel bad for scaring her, not now, not when Credence... Credence wasn't here, where he should be, safe and out of trouble.

Eventually, it was Queenie who answered, her voice soft and sad as she spoke, hugging her sister.

"Grindelwald."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far! Feel free to tell me what you thought of this chapter, reading your comments always makes my day! If you're interested in reading the one-shot I was talking about in the beginning, you may find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9767849)! It's a Credence/Percival AU as well ;)
> 
> Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! As always, many thanks for your support on this story, I hope you will continue to enjoy it :)

  


Tuesday 2nd of February, 1:07pm

_Grindelwald_. The name resounded in Percival's mind like a bell's knell, filling his heart with dread and guilt. Grindelwald had taken Credence. The thought was spinning in his mind, cutting like a knife. It was his fault. He had involved Credence in this situation that should have remained his own problem and now... Now, the weight of his actions and decisions was pressing down on his shoulders, painfully so.

He didn't react to Queenie's announcement, couldn't say anything, but his whole body froze in horror. He barely listened to Tina as she explained, in a brittle voice, that she and her team had investigated about Credence after he'd been taken away by Percival, and that they had reported everything to Grindelwald - which was the normal procedure to follow, or at least it was when their superior was not exposed for a fraud.

He still didn't say anything but clomped to the nearest chair, dropping gracelessly onto the seat. He was aware of the three pairs of eyes observing him in worry but also with expectance, almost impatience, as if they thought that he was going to come up with a solution to Credence's situation. How could he, though? Where to even begin? He had no idea of the place where Grindelwald could have possibly taken the young man, hence no way to plot a rescue, no matter how much he wanted to.

And he did, God, he wanted nothing else than to find where the young man was held captive and to save him. Even if he hadn't felt responsible for the boy's fate, he would have done everything that was possible to find him. Credence was an innocent, a civilian, who had been involved way too far already in the CIA's dirty business; it should all have stopped after Percival's name was cleared. But now that Grindelwald had ruined everything, this victory didn't seem much like one anymore. The relief he had felt upon proving his innocence to Seraphina Picquery had turned into an ugly fear and a blind anger and if fucking Gellert Grindelwald had stood in front of him right now, the man would have been dead in a second.

As the agent didn't say anything, mulling over dark thoughts instead, Tina hovered hesitantly, clearly not knowing what to do to help - but nothing could, not now. Queenie checked Jacob's forehead, where a purplish bruise had bloomed, and laid a firm hand on his chest when he tried to stand up, saying that he was going to fix them some lunch.

"Oh no, you are not," Queenie told him. "Rest, I will take care of the food."

For a second, Percival wanted to scream that eating would not help in any way, that this would not get them any closer to Credence, but he eventually understood that there was _nothing else_ to do. No other way to be useful. If he hadn't been so obsessed with the thought of the boy and Grindelwald in the same place, Percival would probably have thought that it was actually a good idea to have lunch: his companions had gotten into a fight, they needed their strength back - especially Jacob, who was in no way used to this. Percival himself had not eaten much for the last twenty-four hours and yet, he didn't even feel hungry, not even when the mouth-watering smell of an omelette tickled his nostrils.

Filling his stomach was the last of his concerns right now: in front of him, across the small table on which two plates still remained, reminder of their early breakfast, Jacob had slowly sat up on the couch. Twelve hours ago or so, Credence had slept on that couch like a baby, wrapped in Percival's coat. He had made a beautiful sight, unaware of the man watching him, relaxed and trusting enough to sleep in front of a dangerous man that he did not know. The agent still remembered what he had thought then, even though he had tried not to dwell on the idea for too long... He had found the young man attractive - gorgeous. Percival shook his head. Now was not the right time to imagine how the boy's lips would taste if he kissed him.

He would leave it for another time, if... No. Not if. _When_ he found Credence. Fuck, just thinking about the boy all alone with Grindelwald made him want to break something, hit someone. Even worse, imagining how scared the boy certainly felt was breaking his heart: Credence was a victim of abuse, he had told Percival so himself. The young man had been brave while they were on the run together but the agent had never wanted to hurt him, a consideration that Grindelwald definitely would not have for his hostage, so there was no way that Credence would cope well with it.

A phone rang somewhere in the shop. Percival didn't pay much attention to it, only heard Jacob answer with a strained _Kowalski Quality Baked Goods, how may I help you?_ and closed his eyes. Tina had told him how she had reported everything she found about Credence to Grindelwald. If the boy had entered the foster system when he was younger, was beaten by the woman who had taken him in and finally got out, Tina must have found a file, thorough as she usually was, so she knew... And so did Grindelwald. A heavy weight fell in the pit of his stomach as he realised what the exact consequences of that knowledge were: that asshole would use Credence's past against him. He would instil the fear of a beating into the boy's mind, would bend him to his will, perhaps even hurt him for real, until Credence was sobbing and begging him to stop.

He couldn't take it.

Percival would have hit the wall until he bled, if he hadn't found himself face to face with a pale Jacob as he stood up in anger.

"Phone," the baker said on a strange tone, "For you."

"Me?" Percival asked, confused for a short second, before a cold mask of fury fell on his face.

Every single one of his allies who knew where he had planned on meeting with Credence after his little trip to the CIA was standing in the same room as he was. No one else, not even Picquery, not even _Newt_ , although a trustworthy friend, knew where he was. It only left one person. Percival snatched the phone to answer, his voice shaking with anger:

"If you hurt him," he growled, "I will kill you."

"Hello to you too, Percy," Grindelwald mocked him, the scorn clear in his disembodied voice. "Don't worry, dear, the boy is alive and well. Or, he will be if you follow my instructions."

"What do you want?" he asked, his free hand gripping the back of his chair tightly. "If you want information, let Credence go. He has nothing to do with us, he doesn't know anything..."

"Oh, I know he's useless," Grindelwald said dismissively, twisting Percival's words, "Except... He seems fond of you. And based on your threats, I'd say that he's grown on you too. He speaks very highly of you, do you know that? He was terrified but he screamed himself hoarse in the car, saying that you would find him and save him. Can't disappoint him now, can you?"

"What. Do you. Want?" Percival repeated, the pain in his heart nearly suffocating him as he spoke.

"A few things, nothing much, really," Grindelwald chirped, but his voice hardened as he added, "First of all, as you so helpfully put it, the boy is worthless. You're not. And you want to save him, so what do you say we make a deal?"

"An exchange," Percival understood, already knowing what his answer would be. "Fine. What else?"

He was aware of how dangerous it was to humour Grindelwald and accept his terms but he didn't have much of a choice in this situation: without any potential location, they would never find Credence. But if he agreed to stand as Grindelwald's hostage, the man would eventually give him a place and a time to proceed to the exchange. Percival also knew the risks for Credence and him both if anything went wrong - he could also guess already that Tina would kill him once she would hear that he was willingly putting himself in danger - but then again, what other choice did they have? None. Besides, the boy had been his responsibility so he had to do everything he could in order to rescue him... Even if it meant facing the threat head-on.

"Fantastic," Grindelwald laughed, "How beautifully tragic that you are willing to sacrifice your own safety for this little thing... Great! So... Secondly, I want a plane to leave the country, light aircraft, ready at JFK at three o'clock. There is an unused runway on the east side of the airport. I want it there. Understood?"

"Three o'clock?" Percival repeated, a little put off by the sudden request, "In one hour and half? It's too soon, I can't find you a plane for..."

"I don't think," Grindelwald interrupted him, his voice dropping dangerously, "that you properly understood me. This was _not_ a question, Graves. Perhaps you need a little incentive to do exactly as I say? Tom, bring the boy in."

That last sentence was addressed to someone else, a guy whom Percival didn't know but immediately disliked. He was fetching Credence and as much as the fact relieved him, since it proved that the young man was alive, the agent also felt dread coil in the pit of his stomach, fearing what Grindelwald could possibly do to him.

"What..." he started, but he was cut off again.

"Let me put you on speaker," Grindelwald said on a tone as soft as it sounded cruel, "I think Credence wants to say hi."

Percival heard some fumbling, then heavy footsteps, as if someone was dragging another person along, and Tom, since it was probably him, grunted as Credence struggled against his hold.

"Credence!" the agent exclaimed, hoping that the boy would hear him and feel at least a little reassured, knowing that he had not been forgotten, "I'll come for you, I swear! I won't let them..."

"Now, now, that is not what you said," Grindelwald taunted him. "You told me that it was impossible to get a plane ready for the time that I want it... Well, let me explain to you why you need to get it, one way or another... Tom, go on."

For one short second, Percival could hear nothing but his own erratic heartbeat. Then, sounds of struggling, a crash as someone was pushed to the floor, and Credence's panicky voice.

"No!" the boy screamed, "Let go of me, don't..."

"Grindelwald!" Percival yelled, startling the three other people standing next to him, "Don't do anything to him! I'll get your fucking plane but don't..."

Credence screamed. A long, shrill scream of pain that broke into sobs, until the agent couldn't hear the boy anymore as Grindelwald put him off speaker.

"Shame," he said before Percival could tell him that he would take his sweet time to eviscerate him, "I didn't mean to hurt him, you know? This is all your fault. But it's merely a broken collarbone, don't worry. Now, if you don't want any more broken limbs on your pet, you'd better have my plane ready by three. Understood?"

"Understood," Percival breathed out, his hand shaking around the phone.

"Perfect. Meet me at the old warehouse, at the IUOE training centre down Lefferts Boulevard, at three o'clock. Come alone, unarmed. No tricks, Percy: don't forget that I have your little friend with me. See you soon."

Percival didn't move, even after Grindelwald hung up the phone. Credence's scream was echoing in his mind and he had to close his eyes under the onslaught of guilt and fear. If he had known, the previous night, when he had broken into the young man's house... He should never have brought the boy with him, no matter how badly he needed to escape Tina and her team. He should have talked to her, tried to convince her that he wasn't guilty: that way, Credence would never have been involved, not to this point.

He felt even more horrible as he realised that he couldn't bring himself to fully regret the happenings of that night; he couldn't regret meeting Credence. What did that make him? What to make of a man who had endangered another person, an innocent boy, and felt guilty but not remorseful? Because now, even after everything that had happened today, the thought of never having the chance to know Credence was impossible to bear. He had never wished for complications though, he had never even thought that Grindelwald would get to him, but now...

Credence's scream resounded in his head with more intensity. In his clenched hand, the plastic of the phone let out a cracking sound. He wanted to hurl it at the wall.

"Mister... Mister Graves?" someone asked next to him with hesitation.

Percival nearly jumped. He'd forgotten that he wasn't alone in the room and suddenly, he had to face three equally worried gazes; closest to him, Jacob was taking steady steps in his direction, so slow and careful that the agent felt like he was a wild animal that the baker was afraid to spook. The look in his eyes must have been rather fierce too, for Jacob raised his hands in a placating gesture and said:

"Are you alright? What did Grin...", he stumbled on the name, "Griwaleld say? Do you know where Credence is?"

With a twinge in his chest, Percival remembered that he wasn't the only one to like the young man. The sisters both looked concerned, although Tina and Queenie had never heard of the boy until two or three hours prior at best - and none of the girls had experienced what he and Credence had during their great escape. Jacob, though... Jacob knew Credence better than he did and the agent was aware that the boy meant a lot to him, so Percival could perfectly imagine how worried the baker had to be in this moment.

"I know where he'll be in one hour and half," the agent answered, voice rough with a mix of emotions that he didn't want to show. "I can't be sure that Grindelwald is already there with him, though."

"Where is it?" Tina asked.

"A training centre, on Lefferts Boulevard. It's not far from JFK, I think, and he wants a plane ready at three o'clock."

"He wants to leave the country," his colleague said, "but..."

The rest of her sentence, as well as Queenie's reply, faded into the background as Percival stared at his hand, still holding onto the phone. If he hurried and broke a few traffic laws, he could be on the location in half an hour... If Credence was already there, maybe he had a chance of getting to him: Grindelwald wouldn't expect him so soon, would he? Was it worth a shot? If he fucked up, Credence could be hurt more than he already was, or even worse. Plus, Percival didn't have any tangible proof that the boy had been brought directly to the training centre after his capture. It was too risky, there were too many unknown elements. Even if he followed Grindelwald's orders to the letter, he could still fuck up and that would be dangerous enough.

He had always hated dire situations that involved hostages, even though they were thankfully rare in his own field - policemen often had more of those than he did with the CIA. Nonetheless, it happened from time to time and he had to calculate his every step to make sure that he would not endanger the hostages' lives any further. In this special case though... It was Credence whom he could get killed if he wasn't careful enough.

Mechanically, he dropped his free hand to the gun that he carried in its holster, at his waist. He knew that it wasn't fully loaded; he should fix that. A small step, but better than doing nothing at all and spending his time worrying. Even though Grindelwald had told him to meet him unarmed, Percival wasn't stupid enough to agree on that point - and he guessed that Grindelwald himself didn't expect him to obey. He also wanted him alone - dangerous but manageable. Tricky, too: after he took Credence's place as Grindelwald's hostage, how would the boy go back to civilisation if there was no one to pick him up? Well, if Grindelwald kept his promise of letting the boy go, of course.

Somehow, Percival didn't think that he would: in his eyes, Credence probably knew too much about him by now, perhaps even about his plan of running away. The young man must have heard bits and pieces of conversation between Grindelwald and Tom.

"How many were they when they attacked you?" he suddenly asked, interrupting Queenie and Tina's discussion about alerting the airport security.

"Uh... Four, I think," the blonde answered, "Four, without Grindelwald. He was standing back."

"And smiling too, the bastard," Jacob added, mumbling.

Four of them. That made it five with their boss, and he had to consider the possibility that Tom, the only other person that Grindelwald had spoken to while on the phone, was not included in that group. There would be at least five or six people waiting for him in that warehouse - a plain trap. While he wasn't too concerned about his immediate safety, since Grindelwald probably needed to hold him at gunpoint in order to get to the plane without being arrested, Credence's mattered a lot more. With six people in that warehouse, it would be easy for one of them to slip out after the boy and kill him even after he was released. Percival definitely could not go alone.

Time to make decisions. Time to become agent Graves again, to forget his ties to Credence and act like the professional he was, cold and level-headed, even in desperate situation.

"All right," he groaned, attracting all eyes to him despite his low tone, "Here's what we know: Credence will be at the training centre down Lefferts Boulevard at three this afternoon, with Grindelwald. He doesn't need Credence for anything beside warranting himself greater leverage. Myself."

"So that was the exchange you were talking about?!" Tina exclaimed. "You can't accept that!"

"This is the only way to free Credence," Percival calmly explained, although he left out his own doubts regarding the boy's fate afterwards. "I'm also more qualified than him to handle this sort of situation."

"True as it may be, what then? You just take off with the asshole and hope that he won't throw you out of the plane?"

"Or," the other agent suggested, "I neutralise him before we take off."

"On your own?" Queenie interfered, eyebrows elegantly raised.

"Grindelwald wants me alone, yes," Percival dodged the question with a nonchalant shrug. "And unarmed, of course."

"Of course," Jacob squeaked. "But you... You're not going to do that, right? That's dangerous!"

The agent took pity on the poor civilian who had been thrown in the middle of all this and chose not to tell him that yes, dangerous was part of their everyday job. Well, granted, fighting the former head of the CIA's Department of Security was not that frequent. Still, Tina and he had both seen and lived through their fair share of risky situations.

"I'm not going to run into a trap without at least one gun," he said, "but I can't use it before Credence gets released. Also, we have to get this damn plane ready. I bet Grindelwald will make sure that it's really there before he does anything regarding the boy."

"I can call the office," Queenie suggested, "and get in touch with Picquery. I'll update her on the situation and she'll get your plane."

"Thank you. But don't speak to anyone else about this: the men who attacked you had to come from somewhere. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that other agents are not as clean as we are."

Queenie nodded and gently took the phone out of his hand. Her fingers were cool on his skin, refreshing, and he welcomed the sensation even as he realised that he had been boiling with nerves. She walked away to make the call without bothering the others with her conversation and Percival turned to Tina.

"Whatever plan we settle on," he told her firmly, "your sister won't be involved in it."

"I know," the young woman answered with a nod. "She's not a field agent."

She left it at that but Percival could tell that part of her decision relied on her fear of Queenie getting injured in the action. He didn't know her as much as he did her sister but he was certain that she knew how to fire a gun and protect herself - just not in an operation like this one. To each their specialty, he guessed.

"Neither will you," he said to Jacob next. "I know you worry about Credence, but..."

"Goodness!" the baker exclaimed, looking at the agent as if he was crazy. "I wasn't even going to try and come with you! I would shoot myself accidentally while trying to help! Just... Do your James Bond thing and... When you come back, I'll be waiting for you with hot cocoa and... and pie! Who doesn't like pie, right?"

The more Jacob talked, the more his eyes grew watery, but he turned around before he could break in front of them and he strode to the kitchen. Tina and Percival remained silent for an instant, both thinking of the young man that the baker was so worried about, until they faced each other.

"You're not going alone," she said first. "You need someone to watch over you, or you will end up killed! You are so reckless sometimes, I..."

"Goldstein," he growled, "while I appreciate your concern, going against Grindelwald's orders would be very..."

"Don't use that tone with me!" she snarled back. "And don't make me arrest you right now because if that's the only way to keep you from going on a suicide mission, I will do it!"

"I'm innocent!" he protested, taken aback at the card she'd pulled.

"Do I look like I care?" Tina asked, raising a brow and crossing her arms against her chest.

A soft cough interrupted their argument and they both turned at the same time, eyebrows arched and sporting matching scowls.

"What?" they asked together.

Queenie would have laughed at their identical glare if the situation had been less serious but in the middle of this crisis, she merely curled her lips in a sad, dejected smile.

"Picquery agrees with you," she said at last, "She thinks it would be better to follow the instructions, at least to some point. She'll take care of the plane and get in touch with the airport security to make sure they don't go near it."

Percival nodded, relieved to know that they had the Directress' support and help. Seraphina would probably make up some bullshit about the CIA going on a mission that required the utmost discretion from the airport security staff, blah blah blah, who would be so proud to help of course, blah blah blah. The kind of excuse that she would find didn't really matter to him, as long as no one got close to the plane Grindelwald would board - with him, maybe. At least Percival wouldn't have to focus of anyone but this asshole.

"She's also trying to gather a squad of agents we can trust," Queenie added. "She doesn't want you on your own, not for this. She'll call us back with a few names."

Tina made a small noise of triumph that Percival ignored, but he had to resign himself to having company on this rescue mission. Fine, if it meant that Credence would be kept safe while he dealt with Grindelwald (hopefully, it would end with a bullet lodged between the scumbag's two eyes.) Picquery had better select competent assets.

"All right," he finally relented, addressing Queenie. "Could you hand me the phone when she calls back? I think... I think I might have a plan."

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment, it would be really helpful and super nice of you :) I'll try to update as soon as I can so that you won't have to wait for too long to know what happens with Credence, hehe~ See you soon!
> 
> (Also, feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://like-a-bucky.tumblr.com)!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, I did promise I wouldn't take too long with the update, right? Well, there you go! I hope you'll like it ;)

  


Wednesday 2nd of February, 2:55pm

The sky was slowly greying above the New Yorkers' heads, as if it would start snowing soon, and the dark clouds matched Percival's mood as he drove down Leffert Boulevard, heading for the IUOE training centre he had checked on a map before he left the bakery. Grindelwald had chosen the place well. Lefferts Boulevard and its four lines of traffic drew alongside one of JFK long-term parking lots and abruptly stopped afterwards, reduced to a long but narrower road that lead to the warehouse where Credence was waiting for him.

Isolated and lonely, the place didn't attract the attention much, surrounded by trees as it was and close to an airport that had driven away residential neighbourhoods and thus, eventual witnesses. Perfect place to kill and bury the bodies afterwards, he'd say.

However, Percival had been rather worried about the engineers that were supposed to work there, wondering how he would possibly manage to avoid them in the middle of the afternoon, although he shouldn't have bothered. Either it was a pure coincidence or Grindelwald had planned everything perfectly: the website of the IUOE warned that the centre had been evacuated that morning, due to a bulldozer operator who had accidentally hit a gas pipe earlier that day. In fear of a massive gas leak resulting in an explosion, everyone had left to allow the firefighters to work in peace - but Percival, as he arrived on location, didn't see any red truck nor any notice to stay away.

Only a black SUV on the parking lot, in front of a warehouse he assumed was Grindelwald's temporary headquarters.

The agent parked the car that Picquery had sent for him a bit farther away, facing the exit, and he killed the engine but also took care of leaving the key in the ignition - just in case Credence and he had to make a run for it. He checked the tiny numbers on the dashboard that showed the time, three o'clock precisely, before he got out of the car with a deep breath.

"All right," he said softly, "I'm going in."

Had someone been able to hear him, speaking on a quiet but clear tone, they would have thought that he was talking to himself, gathering up his courage to walk straight into the trap Grindelwald had certainly set for him. But Percival, albeit nervous, didn't need to pat himself on the back and tell himself that everything would be fine - not yet. Instead, the tiny and nearly invisible microphone hidden under the lapels of his coat carried his voice to the other side of New York, to an inconspicuous bakery that had become the new headquarters of the CIA, at least for today.

After Percival got in touch with her, Picquery had quickly come down to Jacob's establishment with a few trusted people and a ton of equipment, among which the spy microphones. While it was helpful and very nice of her, he hadn't been too pleased with her interferences on some other points - it was _his_ plan, damnit!

Thanks to Seraphina, he now had Queenie on the other end of his small mic, no matter how much he had argued with Picquery not to involve her in the rescue mission... But he would rather have the blonde woman safely locked in Jacob's bakery and dispatching messages between the squad than having her on the field. Speaking of Kowalski, the Directress had also allowed him to stay - after all, he owned the bakery, and she couldn't throw him out like that.

Percival didn't like it, though. The shop had been Grindelwald's target once, why not twice, if everything went south at the warehouse? All these thoughts were running through his head at high speed but he forced himself to push them away in order to focus on his real mission.

In theory, the plan was simple. Easy to remember, easy to carry out - which worried him a little, seeing that lately, everything that was supposed to be easy turned out rather badly in the end.

The agent shook his head and took his first steps towards the warehouse. _Simple_ , he reminded himself. Get in, play for time, get Credence. It would all happen with tight timing but hopefully, his back-up would arrive just in time. Either that, or Percival wasn't sure to survive. He guessed he'd have to trust the team, right? A team composed of people whom he barely knew, save for Tina. Reassuring, really.

As he neared the door of the warehouse, two guys suddenly showed up, as if out of nowhere, and he stopped as they pointed two rifles at him. He didn't recognise them... Probably not traitors from the CIA, then.

"Hands above your head," one of them said, "Don't move."

Percival complied and stood perfectly still as the other man patted him down, even though he wanted nothing more than smash the guy's nose with his knee. Maybe later. He didn't react when he was stripped from his gun, which he had slipped in a shoulder holster - courtesy of Picquery. She thought it would seem suspicious to Grindelwald if he didn't have at least one firearm on him.

"He's clean," the guy grumbled to his partner. "Open the door."

With a nod, the other lifted the latch to open the sliding, metalled door and a push with the muzzle of the rifle on Percival's lower back made him step forward, until he was inside the warehouse. The door remained open behind him.

Even like that, it was rather dark inside, no window to let the dim luminosity of this cloudy day in, and a lone light bulb shone at the back of the warehouse. Grindelwald was waiting there, under a rusty overhead crane, keeping his hands behind his back and looking bored out of his mind as he watched his guys come with Percival in front. When one of them brought the agent's gun to him, the blond man sighed.

"Ah, Percy, Percy," he complained, almost whining. "What did I tell you? No gun."

"Can't blame me for trying," he shot back with a meaningful glance to the rifles in the hands of Grindelwald's men. "Besides, I feel naked without it."

At the same time as he spoke, he tried to look around and locate Credence but there was no sign of the boy. Where did Grindelwald keep him? Praying that he was still alive, Percival focused on his former superior, who was giving orders to his two gorillas.

"Check outside," he told them, "and shoot everything that moves. If this one's smart, he'll have planned some back-up."

Percival willed his face to not show any reaction - he wouldn't give his partners away with the slightest blink. If they had followed his instructions, they should be fine anyway... Back at the bakery, they had agreed to let him go alone, just like Grindelwald wanted, and he would stay on his own just long enough to lull the man's suspicions into a false sense of confidence in his own superiority. Right now, Tina and the others had to be close to the JFK parking lot and with Queenie keeping them updated, they should know not to show up too soon - but hopefully not too late either.

Meanwhile, he had to stall for time.

"Where is Credence?" he asked, the threat in his voice perfectly audible.

"Come on, don't be like that," Grindelwald chided. "First of all, is my plane ready?"

"Yes," Percival immediately answered. "Ready on the unused runway, just like you asked."

"Perfect!" the blond man exclaimed with a smirk that chilled the other to the bone. "You won't be mad if I make sure it is as you say, will you?"

Grindelwald took a phone out of his pocket and stopped paying attention to Percival as he dialled a number and put the device to his ear. That was the moment the two guys he had sent outside chose to walk back in, and the blond raised a curious eyebrow in their direction.

"All clear," one said.

Good. So Tina and the rest of the squad hadn't been noticed - but they were probably not on location yet. They would make their move soon but based on the time he had needed himself to get there, he'd say it would take five more minutes before their arrival. Probably one or even two more minutes for them to get in position and be ready... He had to get Credence before that. If the boy was still with Grindelwald by the time Tina launched the assault, he would be in danger.

"Tom," Grindelwald suddenly spoke in the phone as his call was taken, "Check the runway."

Oh. _Tom_. None other than the guy who had grabbed Credence and broken his collarbone while Grindelwald made him _listen_ to the boy's screams and realise how impuissant he was. Whoever that Tom was, Grindelwald trusted him to the point of sending him to the airport in his place so that he could make sure that the CIA had kept their end of the bargain. Which they had, as Tom would certainly inform his boss.

"Good," the blond man said after a few seconds of silence, "Stay away until I arrive with our special guest. Don't think that just because you can't see them, the CIA isn't watching that plane closely."

Grindelwald ended the phone call on these words and his eyes were shining as he turned towards Percival.

"You want to get your boy back so much, don't you?" he teased him, a cruel smirk dancing on his lips. "I knew you were a sentimental..."

"Seems like you know me well," Percival grunted, feeling like his heart was being torn apart, as he needed to keep on talking and gain time even though all he wanted was to find Credence and hold him in his arms, the only way he would truly believe that the boy was alive.

"Oh, I do," Grindelwald assured him. "That is why I chose you for this."

Percival froze. He knew it. From the very moment Tina had attempted to arrest him, he had thought that there must be a reason why Grindelwald had chosen him specifically, but he still couldn't see it. His confusion had to show on his face, for the blond started to laugh.

"Of course, Percy!" he exclaimed, "Think about it! I knew Albus was coming here to get me, you understand that I needed a diversion... You. You are my best agent, Graves. I knew that you would never let anyone arrest you based on false accusations, I knew you would never go down willingly, and I knew that you would brilliantly escape. Which you did! You exceeded all my expectations."

"So that's it?" Percival asked, stunned. "You set Tina on my ass because you knew I would keep everyone on their toes? So you could leave quietly?"

"It almost worked," Grindelwald said with a shrug, this time faking a dejected smile. "I even made an announcement on the television channels so that you would be hunted by everyone, not just the CIA... It should have forced you to run away, far from New York, and Goldstein would have followed. She was the perfect candidate for this role, imagine why! She admires you. She looked so betrayed when I told her about your _true_ loyalties! She had worshipped a traitor... Her anger and broken trust were all the fuel she needed to go after you."

"You sick bastard," Percival growled, "You..."

"Now, now, don't be nasty," Grindelwald smiled. "You must admit that I got style. It was a good plan. Goldstein would have run after you while I left New York and Albus wouldn't have been able to do a single thing about it, locked up in his hotel room..."

"Why didn't you let me kill Dumbledore, before having me arrested?" Percival enquired. "It would have been easier for you."

For once, Grindelwald didn't immediately answer. Oddly enough, he looked like he was weighing his words and Percival had never seen him that hesitant before.

"Perhaps, yes," the blond said at last. "But he wasn't the only one from the MI6 who knew what I was doing. Someone else would have come... I guess I was... reluctant to have him killed. After all, Albus and I have history."

Ah yes, Nurmengard. Funny, Dumbledore had used the exact same words to describe their partnership. Almost as if the term meant something to them, like a cover for a shared secret.

"Keeping Albus alive probably was a mistake," Grindelwald added, like an afterthought. "Not the worst I made, though."

"Then what was it?" Percival asked drily, growing tenser with every second that passed without seeing Credence.

His back-up had to be there now, probably getting ready to attack - but not until they had eyes on the boy. He should hurry and redirect the conversation toward the main topic: the longer he waited, the more Tina risked being discovered if Grindelwald's men went back outside to patrol around.

"With you on the run and Albus on lockdown," the blond man explained, oblivious to everything that was going on in the agent's head, "I thought I'd have the time to finish a few things here... I really believed that you would keep on running, far from New York if you had to, but no. Instead, you decided to play the hero and prove that something was wrong. I knew my plan was over the moment you looked up Albus' name in the database..."

"But you still win, don't you?" Percival asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Your plane is ready, I'm right here. Just release the boy and I'm all yours."

"Ah, yes," Grindelwald agreed, "I guess it's time. Nic, get the boy."

Percival stared with narrowed eyes at one of the men, who had been watching him with his riffle pointing at his chest and was now walking towards Grindelwald. He didn't stop by his boss' side though but headed for the back wall of the warehouse, where Percival suddenly noticed a door that Nic pushed open. A small eternity seemed to pass between the time he entered the room at the back and the moment he walked out, dragging Credence behind him, tugging on his collar.

"Credence," Percival gasped as a fresh wave of guilt attacked his heart.

The boy looked paler than he remembered, at least where his face wasn't dirty with dust - and blood. He was walking at a fast but awkward pace, following Nic's own strides, hunched and almost curled on himself, and his slim frame seemed frailer than ever. As he watched the boy, Percival felt the urge to run towards him and embrace him, to protect him from any more hurt with his own body if needed. God, he had never wanted this.

He didn't move, well aware of the second riffle pointed at his head, but he kept his eyes set on Credence. His left hand was clutching to his arm on the other side, trying to keep it from moving too much, every step sending vibrations up to his broken collarbone.

"Look, Credence," Grindelwald said, "He came for you. Like he promised."

Percival couldn't stand it, couldn't bear the way Credence looked at him then, his eyes full of pain but also relief and hope at the sight of the agent. He shouldn't see these expressions, not when he was responsible for the boy's hurt in the first place.

"Now," Grindelwald said as he came closer to Credence, reaching out to place a hand on his good shoulder, "We..."

"Don't touch him!" Percival snarled, taking an involuntary step forward when he saw the boy flinch at the contact. "You have done enough!"

A riffle smacked him sharply at the back of the head, making him stagger on his feet. Somewhere in front, he could hear Credence cry out his name in distress.

"Mister Graves!"

"Don't move," Nic's partner said.

"Okay, okay!" Percival relented, raising his hands. "Fine. Now let him go."

"Very well," Grindelwald nodded. "On my count, you both start walking. The boy keeps straight ahead and out, you Percy... Well, you're staying with me. Don't try anything funny, you hear me? My men have eyes on you."

He knew that. But he also knew that once Credence would have stepped outside, Grindelwald would be over with. If it all went according to plan, then Tina was ready. Percival had better not be standing too close to Grindelwald - even if the CIA didn't intend to kill the man, he'd rather stay away than risk it.

"Okay," he breathed out.

Percival sent a silent prayer to Tina and hoped that this would all work out, while Grindelwald started to count aloud. On three, Credence stumbled forward at the same time as the agent took his first step; the boy looked terrified but, the older man realised with a pang in his chest, not for himself. For Percival.

They met somewhere in between and Credence ran the last few steps until he collided with Percival, who tried to catch him as gently as he could, mindful of the broken bone.

"M... Mister Graves," the boy breathed out, a strangled sob fighting its way out of his throat. "Th... Thank you."

 _Thank you for not leaving me here_.

Grindelwald snickered somewhere behind Credence but Percival didn't care, not when the boy looked both so vulnerable and grateful in his arms.

"Come on," the blond quipped, "Let's get this show on the road."

Percival gently cupped Credence's face in his hands and smiled, a soft and gentle curl of his lips that he hoped would comfort the boy at least a little.

"Get out of here," he told him. "You will be alright, I promise. Get out, and no matter what happens... Don't look back."

Credence nodded, even though his eyes clearly showed that he didn't want to leave Percival on his own to face Grindelwald and his men - yet he also knew that he could do nothing against armed men.

"Don't..." Credence tried to say, but he had to swallow the hard lump of emotion in his dry throat and start over, "Please, don't die."

Percival would have assured him that he didn't mean to, had Credence not immediately stepped around him to carefully start limping his way to the open door of the warehouse and beyond, to the parking lot where the CIA should usher the boy to a car. He allowed himself two seconds to stare at the boy's retreating back before he turned around to face Grindelwald again.

He froze as soon as he caught the blond man's expression, pure malice written all over his face. But Grindelwald was not looking at him, wasn't rejoicing at the thought of holding captive an agent of the CIA and using Percival to leave New York. No, his eyes were set on Credence. But neither Nic nor his acolyte were aiming their riffle at his back, so what...

He whipped around, his heart beating furiously against his ribs, and there it was, the red little dot shining between the boy's shoulder blades; on the overhead crane above Grindelwald, hiding in the shadows, crouched a lone sniper.

"No!"

Percival didn't think. He surged forward, ran, and wrapped himself around Credence right as the sniper released a deadly shot.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muhahaha. (I'm so sorry, I swear!) Don't forget to tell me what you think about this in the comments, or even where you think this is going, what will happen (or what you hope will happen!) It would make my day :) Thank you for reading and I'll see you soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening everyone! Or morning/afternoon, depending on where you are in the world right now. I'm back with the 9th chapter, which I hope you'll like! We are slowly coming to the end of this story and I really, really hope that you will keep enjoying it :) Thank you so much for your positive feedback and all the kudos, they make me truly happy :)

  


Wednesday 2nd of February, 3:22pm

Credence cried out in pain. For a horrible second, Percival thought that he had moved too late, that the sniper had managed to hit his target before the agent could reach the young man and roll to the floor with him. But then, he registered his own pain and the blood that was running down his left arm, from where a bullet had gone through his biceps.

"Don't kill him!" Grindelwald yelled behind them. "I need him!"

Percival smiled through the pain in a victorious smirk. They wouldn't shoot him twice, not to kill anyway, so as long as he remained curled up around Credence, the boy would be safe. But Credence was shaking in his arms, looking as white as a sheet and gritting his teeth to hold back a weak moan of pain as he clutched to his shoulder. A wonder he had not passed out yet.

"Don't play that game, Percy," Grindelwald warned, his voice growing louder and louder with each step he took forward, flanked by his men. "You are outnumbered. Did you really think you could resist me?"

He was right: Percival wouldn't be able to fight him for long, not when the others were armed and he was not. Where was his fucking back-up? He had a sniper looming over him and two guys with riffles in his back, for God's sake! If Tina didn't show up soon...

"On your feet!" Grindelwald shouted, "Come on, Percy! Man up! What is this boy to you anyway?"

The agent didn't answer, too focused on Credence, whimpering in his arms and terrified, and on the footsteps of Grindelwald's men, getting closer. Suddenly, one of them, Nic perhaps, grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backwards so harshly that Percival couldn't do anything but follow, falling with a yelp. He didn't see the hard kick coming to his stomach before it hit him but, blinded by his fear of what would happen to Credence if he didn't protect him, Percival ignored the pain and tried to get back on his feet, only for Nic to punch him, reopening the cuts and slashes on his face that Credence had tended to with so much care.

Thrown off balance, the agent stumbled but stood his ground, remaining tall and fierce between the boy and Grindelwald. He would not stand down. If they wanted to kill Credence, they would have to get through him first.

"Don't be a fool," Grindelwald chided him, almost as if he had read his mind. "I don't really want to hurt you, Percy, but if you make me..."

The threat, heavy with promises of pain and cruelty, was cut short when a sudden and loud bang resounded in the warehouse, making them all flinch in surprise, and a muffled groan of pain came from the overhead crane. And then, a shout, as several people entered the warehouse, _CIA_ written over their vests and lead by Tina. Finally!

"Grindelwald!" she yelled, holding her Glock with both hands, aiming at the blond man, "On your knees, now! Hands above your head!"

Percival saw his opening in the momentary confusion in Nic's eyes and he swung at him with full force, sending him toppling to the ground. The man let go off his riffle, that the agent was quick to kick a few feet away before he punched Nic a second time for good measure, knocking him out - it wouldn't last long, but it would be enough.

When he turned around, Percival could see that a few minutes, coupled with the surprise and shock that Tina's arrival had caused, had sufficed to reverse the situation. Now, Grindelwald was outnumbered: along with the eldest Goldstein sister, the agents Seraphina had deemed trustworthy enough to go on this mission were invading the warehouse. Surprisingly - or maybe not that much, considering - these agents were not all CIA.

Besides Tina and Picquery herself, Percival recognised the guy whose face he had not too kindly smashed in a car when he'd tried to arrest him - Abernathy, maybe? He was relieved to see him alive, although his nose was now a delicate purple colour - very sexy. Among those he could identify, there was also Kingsley Shacklebolt, currently twisting the arm of the second one of Grindelwald's men behind his back while he yelled something to another agent that had to come from the MI6 too, and...

"Albus," Grindelwald spat, still managing to glare at the British agent from his kneeling position, "How kind of you to join us."

"Gellert," Dumbledore greeted him in an almost amiable fashion, as if he was merely meeting up with a long lost friend. "You know me, I wouldn't have missed this for anything."

"Gellert Grindelwald," Picquery interfered, "You are under arrest for treason against the United States of America."

She looked both furious and satisfied as she enumerated the blond man's crimes and the charges pressed against him, while he watched her calmly, almost smirking. Grindelwald had lost this fight and he knew it, but while he was smart enough to accept his defeat and not resist, he also knew how much work the CIA had yet to do. Arresting him wasn't enough, he had too many connections everywhere to be completely harmless.

"You won't hold me for long," he snarled as Dumbledore and Tina grabbed one of his arms each and led him outside. "I can promise you that!"

A muscle flexed on Percival's jaw. The bastard! So confident, so smug, so... So _lucky_ , that the agent had not managed to get his hands on him before he was arrested. Otherwise, Percival would have punched him so hard that Grindelwald wouldn't have been able to smirk anymore. Even now, as he was taken away, Percival was itching to smash his fist into his self-satisfied face.

He only refrained himself because his attention was drawn to someone else. Stumbling a little now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Percival was reminded of the pain pulsing through his arm and his whole body but he still hobbled as quickly as he could, until he could crouch next to Credence.

The boy stared at him with hesitation, barely daring to believe that it was over, and he tried to stand up but only made it to his knees before he collapsed against Percival's chest.

"Easy, easy," the agent whispered against the young man's hair, loosely wrapping one arm around his thin body. "I got you. You will be okay."

"I..." Credence hiccupped, and Percival realised that he was crying, "I thought they... I thought they would k... kill me before you c... could get me. I thought..."

"Shhhh," the older man said, resting his cheek atop the boy's head. "I'm here now. We got you out."

Credence nodded furiously, as if he was trying to convince himself that he was out of danger, and his good arm sneaked around Percival's back to return the embrace a little clumsily, curling his fingers into the fabric of the agent's coat. Percival didn't allow himself to smile at the gesture, even though he felt his heart melt at the display of the trust the boy was still placing in him, even after everything that had gone wrong.

He let the boy calm down at his own pace, whispering little words of comfort in his ear from time to time, and watched his colleagues as they scouted the place to gather what little evidence they could find. Eventually, he saw Tina reappear and she immediately headed in their direction, her eyes full of worry.

"Is he okay?" she asked, before she paled at her own question, "Of course not. An ambulance is on its way. For the both of you."

Her pupils narrowed as she glanced at the blood on his arm, trying to assess the damage even from her inexperienced eye, but she didn't make any comment. Instead, she apologised:

"I'm sorry we didn't get in as soon as you were shot. We couldn't locate the sniper at first, and we..."

"You had to put him down before anything else," Percival whispered the end of the sentence in her place. "I know. You wouldn't have walked out of here alive otherwise."

"Yeah..." she groaned. "Doesn't mean it was easy to watch."

They remained silent for a few minutes, listening to Picquery's commanding voice as she ordered that the sniper's body was brought down from the crane. In the distance, Percival heard the sirens of an ambulance and he looked down at Credence, who was still crying silently. He had stopped shaking though.

"Tina," he suddenly remembered. "There's one more man! At the airport. Grindelwald sent a guy to make sure the plane was there, we have to arrest him too! His name is Tom, he..."

"We know," she reassured him, "Queenie told us. We didn't have enough agents to split up though, but Shacklebolt is trying to get in touch with the airport security. We will let them handle it and join them as soon as we can."

Oh. Right, Percival thought, Queenie had heard everything he or Grindelwald had said... Good. He hoped this Tom wouldn't slip through their fingers. He had to pay for what he'd done to Credence.

Slowly, he lifted one hand to his collar and fumbled with his coat, searching the lapels until his fingertips brushed against the spy microphone he had nearly forgotten. Taking it off, he handed the now useless device to Tina, who closed her hand around it.

"The paramedics are there," she said suddenly, as the ambulance stopped on the parking lot outside the warehouse, sirens still blaring. "I'll leave you to it. And please, let them do their job. Alright?"

He snorted, knowing perfectly well what she was referring to. A few years prior, they had worked together on a case and he had ended up with deep slashes across his abdomen, ones that had needed lots of stitches. He could admit that he'd been difficult... Tina had nearly been forced to handcuff him to get him to the hospital and then, he'd tried to do the stitches himself so that it would go faster and they could go back to their case. The nurses had not been pleased with him.

This time though, he knew that he would let the paramedics work in peace. First, he was too tired to fight and second, a damn bullet had gone straight through his arm, nothing he could fix himself - unlike stitches. He didn't even dare to imagine the damage.

"Credence," he called the boy softly as two men and one woman, dressed in the same dark blue uniforms, approached at a fast pace with a stretcher and bags of equipment, "The doctors are here. They will take care of you. Okay?"

"Don't leave me," the boy pleaded with a small voice, "Please, Mister Graves..."

"I'm sorry," he apologised with a wince, "I think they'll want some time alone with you."

Perhaps they would even want to drive him to the hospital immediately, without taking the time to stabilise him in this place, and then... Percival wasn't sure he would be allowed to follow, no matter how much he wanted to. He wasn't family, he wasn't anything but the man who had gotten Credence in trouble, and...

"Sir, come with me," the woman told him as soon as she stood in front of him, leaving her colleagues to handle Credence, who was almost forcefully taken away from Percival's arms. "We need to get you checked up. Sir, can you hear me? Can you remove your coat, please?"

"Be gentle!" the agent warned the two others, completely ignoring his own EMT. "Please, don't..."

"Mister Graves!" Credence called, panic in his voice as the paramedics hoisted him up to sit him down on the stretcher, unable to calm down in spite of their soothing words, "Mister Graves!"

"Cre..."

"Sir, please," the woman interrupted him, "I need you to focus. My partners will take care of your friend. Let me get a good look at you and then, you'll be free to see him. Stay still and this will be over more quickly."

He didn't like it, but Percival complied anyway and froze. Keeping his left arm as still as he could, he took off his coat with the help of his doctor - _the name's Emma Jones_ , she said when he asked, trying to busy his mind with something else than the desperate look in Credence's eyes. He watched without a word as she cut through his shirt sleeve to reveal the damaged... Well, everything. Skin, flesh, muscle.

"Not pretty," Emma said, clucking her tongue as she sprayed antiseptic around the wound and heard him hiss in pain. "I hope you're not planning on using that arm anytime soon. You agents, always getting in trouble..."

Percival didn't tell her that they usually ran into trouble for other people's sake. He didn't have time for arguments, he wanted this done and over with so that he could run to the ambulance and see Credence.

"You'll need surgery," she finally announced, rolling a thick bandage tightly around his biceps to compress the wound and stop most of the bleeding. "This will hold until we get to the hospital, though."

"Thank you," he muttered grudgingly. "Can I go, now?"

"No," she said sternly.

She proceeded to pat his ribs, making sure that nothing was broken, and checked a few other things that were totally unnecessary - if you asked Percival. He was relieved when Picquery made her way to him with the clear intent to talk business and not just ask how he was coping: he needed to focus on something, anything but the slow progression of Emma as she took in even the thinnest graze on his face.

"Grindelwald is on his way to the headquarters," Seraphina said without preamble. "He'll be kept on lockdown in the wing that our _mysterious_ attacker didn't blow up this morning and be watched twenty-four hours a day. We should be able to transfer him to Langley soon."

"Good," he nodded, until Doctor Jones grabbed his chin and forced him to stay still. "Any word from the airport?"

Seraphina shook her head and sighed, clearly frustrated with the efficiency of the airport security services - who, in their defence, were not supposed to do the job the CIA couldn't. Besides, they had no idea of who Tom was nor what he looked like: under these circumstances, it would be hard for anyone to spot that guy in the crowd, CIA or not.

"They haven't found him yet," she explained, "and I don't think they will. Grindelwald's arrest has not been made public yet and we will try to delay the announcement for as long as we can, but if he doesn't hear from his boss soon, he'll understand that something went wrong. He is going to hide."

"Credence knows what he looks like," Percival said slowly.

He hated himself a little for that comment, aware that the last thing the boy needed right now was to be asked to describe the guy who had beaten him up. What he needed was rest... And yet, Percival was still an agent, he still had a job to do, and Credence was the only lead they had towards Tom.

"Excuse me," Emma Jones suddenly cut in, "You can't interrogate that boy now. My colleagues needs to confirm that, but from what I could see, he will need surgery and rest, he can't help you right now."

Percival could have kissed her, had she not been scowling at him. Seraphina, though... The Directress stared at her with furrowed brows for a few tense seconds but she seemed to think there were more pressing matters at hand, for she relaxed slightly.

"How is his arm?" she asked the EMT with a nod towards the bloody biceps of her agent, who looked a bit offended to be talked about as if he weren't there at all.

"Bad," Emma explained. "Don't expect him to go around shooting bad guys for some time. Several months, I'd say. I don't think the nerves have been damaged too much but he should expect a limited range of motion, at least in the beginning. Depending on whether or not he goes to therapy and doesn't get in any more trouble, he should be getting better with time."

" _He_ is right here," Percival grumbled.

The only reaction he got was to be not too gently dabbed on the nose with a pad of stinging antiseptic, and a snort from Seraphina. Apparently, she wasn't too worried that one of her best agents would be stuck behind a desk doing paperwork for a while.

"I see you're in good hands," she said. "I'll go to the airport now, see if there's any progress. Take care of yourself, Percival."

"I will," he answered.

And it was true, he really needed some quality time for himself: his whole body was tired, he was mentally exhausted and he wanted nothing more than find a bed and get at least twelve hours of sleep, even if he had to satisfy himself with an hospital bed. He only wished that he would be allowed to see Credence.

"Oh, Percival!" Seraphina called out, stopping just before the threshold of the warehouse, turning around to stare at him with a huge smile, "We are in need of a new director for the Department of Security. You are hereby promoted. Congratulations."

"What?!" Percival exclaimed, stunned, opening eyes that grew wide with surprise.

Too late. Picquery had already left.

  


  


Wednesday 2nd of February, 4:03 pm

Doctor Jones eventually let Percival go - she wouldn't have been able to hold him back much longer, as he was nearly vibrating with impatience, eager to see for himself how Credence was doing.

The answer was, not too well, which he could see as soon as he reached the ambulance. The backdoors were open, enabling him to peek inside, and he caught sight of the boy, looking so small and frightened while he sat on the stretcher, between the two paramedics. The scene nearly took his breath away and he felt like he was suffocating, choking up on his guilt at all the problems he had caused and barely scraped through.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and Credence's head snapped up, as if he had been waiting for him all along - a thought that filled Percival's heart with delight, albeit tainted with pain. Credence shouldn't look so glad to see him and yet, he did. How was the agent supposed to resist this boy?

"Hey," he whispered and trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Sir, can I talk to you for a second, please?" one of the paramedics asked, standing up to walk out of the ambulance.

"How is he?" Percival enquired, anxious, as he took a few steps aside with the kind-looking man who had been sitting by Credence's side.

"His life is not in danger," he immediately reassured the agent, "but we need to take him to the hospital. Broken collarbones don't usually need surgery but if the bone moved as it got broken... He might need it. He was pretty panicky as well, even with the mild sedatives and painkillers we gave him, and he kept asking for you, which is why we haven't driven him to the hospital yet - seeing that there's no emergency and all that. Are you family?"

"I... Uh, no," Percival stammered, "We... We are... friends. Sort of. Listen, I don't think he has any family left, he grew up in the foster system, so..."

"He seems to trust you," the man said gently, "and he certainly needs someone he feels comfortable with by his side, if only for the ride to the hospital. Would you agree to do that?"

"Yes!" Percival exclaimed, too quickly maybe. "I... I mean, yeah, I can do that. I, uh... Your colleague - Doctor Jones? - She said I needed to go to the hospital as well, so..."

"Good. We could use your help, to be honest. He doesn't know us and he hasn't let us proceed to the tests we would have liked to run. We could have sedated him more heavily, but..."

Percival felt himself glare before his brain registered what he was doing, and the man in front of him raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"We didn't!" he quickly said, "It wouldn't have done much good, I'm afraid. Just... He let us tend to the cuts on his face and I also wanted him to take his shirt off so that we could see for ourselves the exact damage that has been done to his shoulder, but... He didn't want to. I'd say he was actually terrified. So, we couldn't make him wear a sling. Do you think you could... talk to him, maybe? Tell him that we aren't here to hurt him? It would help if he were at least a little more... compliant by the time we make it to the hospital."

Percival nodded, although he wasn't too sure that he would be able to help. If Credence was scared... Well, he honestly had no idea how to comfort someone, it just wasn't his forte to deal with emotions - sometimes not even his own. But he guessed it couldn't hurt to try.

Doctor Jones had returned to the ambulance when Percival made his way back to the vehicle and they all climbed in, the agent at the back to stay with Credence. The doors slammed shut with a loud bang that made the boy wince, and Percival slowly sat on his left, trying to find something to say, anything to start a conversation. All he could think of didn't sound right though, but he didn't even get the time to speak, in the end: Credence gently sagged against him and rested his head on Percival's shoulder, eyes fluttering close.

"You got shot," he whispered.

"Nothing that has never happened before," the agent said on the same soft tone.

"You are like James Bond."

"Yes. Except that I'm better than him."

Credence chuckled. Although it sounded weak and tired, the amusement felt genuine and Percival was relieved that he'd at least done one thing right. Turning his head only slightly, burying his nose in the boy's messy hair, he breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with his scent and convincing himself that Credence was truly there, safe, albeit not unhurt.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry, for everything that happened..."

"None of that was your fault," the boy immediately countered, as if he had known all along where Percival wanted to go with this.

"Don't be so quick to forgive me. I... None of this would have happened if I hadn't broken into your house, you would never..."

"You did not mean for me to get hurt, did you?" Credence asked, interrupting Percival's attempt at apologising properly.

"Of course not!" the agent exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Good. Then none of this is on you. It is Grindelwald's fault."

"But..."

Percival shut up when Credence moved his good arm and rested his hand on his thigh.

"Please," the young man whispered. "I'm exhausted. I don't want to fight."

The agent nodded but didn't trust himself to speak yet. He felt like he was going to choke on his words, or perhaps on the emotions that were rising in his throat upon Credence's gentle gesture, as he squeezed his thigh to comfort him. It was supposed to be the other way.

They remained silent for a while, listening to the sounds of the ambulance engine and the other cars they could hear outside, as they drove to the hospital. Percival didn't even know which one. The vehicle suddenly took a turn that led on a bumpy road and Credence hissed in pain, sitting straight once again as he clutched his arm against his side.

"You might need to undergo surgery," Percival told him gently, eyeing the boy's shoulder. "The doctors are not sure yet, they'll have to confirm that. They said that you, uh... didn't want to take off your shirt?"

There it was. His complete inability to be subtle and comforting - he sounded like he was actually accusing the boy, didn't he?

"No," Credence whispered, the pain in his eyes subduing to leave only sadness.

"Why? I... I mean, you don't have to answer that, but you'll have to take it off so they can help you."

The boy nodded, then, lips barely moving at all, he mumbled:

"You already know why. I told you, sort of..."

"What?" Percival asked, brows furrowing as he tried to remember what the young man could have possibly told him. "Credence, I'm not sure to understand..."

With a sigh, the boy raised his left hand to the first button of his shirt, opening it a little clumsily with shaky fingers. The agent wanted to tell him that it was all right, that he didn't have to do this, but once again he couldn't find his voice in time and Credence merely said three words, but those three words acted like a cold shower on Percival's heart:

"My foster mother."

The older man suddenly remembered the pale criss-cross of thin scars on the boy's palms, the soft skin and the smoother lines where something had cut the flesh, clearly meaning to hurt. And now Credence was saying that...

The boy managed to unbutton his shirt completely and he slipped his arm out of the left sleeve, but not the right one, hesitant to move his injured shoulder. They would have to cut through the fabric at the hospital.

Credence carefully turned around, keeping his head down as he exposed his back to Percival's eyes, and the agent felt his heart skip a beat. While the scars on the boy's palms were thin, almost invisible if one didn't look at them in bright light, the scars on his back were impossible to ignore.

They seemed less old than the others, almost as if they had needed more time to heal - and they probably had. Some of these were thin, others bigger, white or darker, offering a sharp contrast with the boy's pale skin. Percival could imagine the cruel hand that had marred the once-smooth back like this and he felt anger rise inside him at the sight of a long scar that ran from Credence's left shoulder to the right side of his waist. He didn't think as he reached out, fingertips gently tracing the scarred pattern, and he felt the boy tremble under his hand.

"Credence?" he whispered. "Is it too much?"

The young man shook his head but the agent didn't miss the timid sniffle he let out.

"P... Percival," the boy started, choking on a wet sob, "Do you feel s... sorry for me?"

The other stayed silent for a few seconds, thinking of the anger he felt for this woman he didn't know and the sudden protectiveness bursting inside him, threatening to drown him.

"No," Percival answered truthfully, before his lips pressed a kiss to the boy's naked shoulder, at the tip of the longest scar.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Credence, felt him freeze in shock, until he relaxed in the soft kisses Percival was peppering the young man's back with, trailing his lips down then up again.

"W... What do you feel?" Credence asked, his voice so soft he seemed almost scared to know the answer.

For once, Percival didn't have to find words: he didn't need any. Instead, he threw caution to the wind and took Credence's chin in his hand, gently coaxing him to turn his head. The boy's teary eyes reflected a question, which turned into a hopeful expression under the intensity of Percival's gaze. The boy didn't flinch when the older man leaned in, placing a hard kiss against his mouth, his eyes tightly shut, and he even chased Percival's desperate lips when the agent attempted to break their embrace. Percival complied, pressing his lips to the boy's once more for a few seconds, until he backed away and rested their foreheads together.

"Everything, Credence," Percival breathed out his answer, "Everything."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment, I love to read what you think ;) See you soon!


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The last chapter... I'm rather sad about it to be honest, I truly enjoyed writing this story and reading your supportive comments was a delight! Thank you, everyone, for your support and your kind words <3

  


Monday 28th of February, 11:47am

Percival gritted his teeth as he put on his coat, his left arm still pulsing with pain every time he moved, even after three weeks and half. Well, perhaps he should have kept wearing his sling like Doctor Jones had prescribed, instead of ditching it after a week. Percival was stubborn though, and since he didn't feel like wearing it anymore, well, he didn't. To be honest, it was not as much a matter of being fed up with the sling as it was with his co-workers.

Everyone was already staring at him with admiration, since his role in the revelation of Grindelwald's fraud and the injustice he had been treated with had not been kept as secret as he would have liked - he suspected Abernathy, who had been proud to show his purple nose to everyone at the office, and even more delighted to tell the story behind it. _I got in a fight with Percival Graves and I survived!_

Perhaps Percival should have smashed his face in the car harder.

Wearing the sling had made it worse, though. Seeing their new director of the Department of Security so obviously injured and convalescent, but still so eager to come to work, had started a sort of tendency to hero worship, which he would have done just fine without. So, he'd gotten rid of the sling.

He tried to use his left arm as little as he could though, waiting for the muscles to heal... He would get an ugly scar for his troubles, Emma Jones had told him after the surgery, but he could choose to have a laser scar removal later, if he wanted to.

Percival snorted in remembrance. As if. This wasn't his first bullet wound, neither would it be his first scar. Besides, he wasn't running for _CIA sexiest man_ \- again, Abernathy was responsible for this stupid competition - and he didn't care about one more scar on his body.

As always when he thought of his injury, he briefly wondered if Credence was all right, before he pushed the question away. Percival hadn't seen the boy since their stay at the hospital and the moment they had both been taken away for their respective surgery: it turned out that Credence's bone _had_ moved when Tom had beaten him up until the collarbone broke - and the asshole was still on the loose.

Percival had checked himself out of the hospital as soon as he had been able to, under the concerned gaze of his nurse, who seemed to think it was a bit early. But he was a grown-up man and didn't suffer from any brain trauma, so she'd let him go. The agent had not tried to see Credence before he left, although he did ask around and heard that the surgery had gone well.

He hadn't lingered any longer. He wouldn't have known what to say to the young man after everything that had happened, after the kisses they had shared in the back of the ambulance... It would stay a sweet memory, as Percival could not allow it to turn into anything else - even though he wanted to. Kissing the boy had felt like the most natural thing in the world, like it was meant to be, and he had considered letting this... this connection between them evolve. He had wanted - and still did - to see where this could go.

But in the end, he had refused to do anything about it: he wouldn't put Credence in danger anymore, which would inevitably happen if they started a... a relation. Well, if the boy wanted that, of course. They had not talked about the kisses in the ambulance, Percival had seen to that, so perhaps this was all just wishful thinking on his part. After all, maybe Credence had just let himself be held and comforted because he needed this physical proximity with someone.

Besides, Percival sucked at relationships. He was often busy, didn't have normal sleep patterns, sometimes didn't come home at all in the evenings, was always risking his life... He couldn't see the appeal in that, from a potential partner's perspective. His ex, at least, had made sure to tell him that - something like nine or ten years ago.

Enough wallowing, Percival decided. Credence was fine and had probably resumed his quiet life and his classes at the university, he didn't need some secret agent to mess it up again. Glancing out the window of his office, Percival saw the grey sky and the threatening clouds, so he took his blue fringed scarf and wrapped it loosely around his neck before he grabbed his umbrella. Better safe than sorry. He was about to head out, walking towards the door of his office, when someone knocked against the panel in a quick succession of sharp little taps. Before he even had the time to groan an invitation to come in, the door opened slightly and Queenie's blonde head peeked inside.

"Percival, hi!" she exclaimed with an innocent smile that the agent knew not to trust.

"Queenie..." he greeted her slowly. "I was about to go out for lunch."

"I know!" she said back, her lips curling in a full grin. "Guess you'll have a guest then, it's perfect!"

"A... guest?" he repeated, a little confused.

She stepped back and opened the door wider, only to push someone else inside, and Percival stopped breathing for a second. He didn't hear what Queenie said as she left the office, too busy staring at Credence, his dark eyes, his mop of black hair and his rosy cheeks as the boy blushed under the scrutiny of his gaze.

"Credence..." he eventually whispered, "What... What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Same as I did last time," the boy answered, looking around the office, hesitant to meet Percival's gaze. "You, uh... You never took your card back."

The young man took a step forward and handed him the CIA badge that he had used weeks ago to get in the building without trouble. As Percival reached out, his fingers softly brushed against Credence's and he bit his lip when he saw the boy swallow, his Adam apple bobbing slightly as he did so. What was that quote about temptation and yielding to it as the only possible resistance? Because right now, Percival was this close to wrap Credence in a tight embrace and kiss him breathless.

"I thought we should... talk," the young man said, clearing his throat. "I... I mean... I didn't imagine what happened in the ambulance, right?"

His dark eyes dropped to his right shoulder, immobilised by the same kind of white sling that Percival should have kept wearing, and he glared at it as if he held it responsible for his doubts.

"No, you didn't," the agent answered, feeling like he should say way more but unable to find the right words. "It happened."

Credence nodded, and he suddenly looked both relieved and a little lost, unable to understand...

"Then why?" he asked, lifting his head to stare straight into Percival's eyes, in hopes to see the answers that the man's mouth didn't utter. "Why didn't you... I thought we had something. I thought you would be there when I woke up after the surgery. But you weren't."

"I know. I'm sorry, Credence, but it... It was easier not to say goodbye. It wasn't as painful."

Leaving without a word, like a lover would leave his last conquest in the morning, had seemed a good idea at the time. Percival realised now that it was mere cowardice, that he hadn't wanted to face Credence and see his reaction when he told him that they couldn't act on their feelings. But now, he was there.

"I don't understand," the boy said, blinking fast. "You sound like you actually wanted to be there. So why weren't you?"

Percival didn't say a word but he reached out and thumbed at the corner of Credence's left eye, before a lonely tear could fall and run down his cheek. The young man leaned into the touch, chasing the warmth of his palm as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"I meant everything I said in the ambulance," Percival finally whispered, stroking the pale skin with his fingertips. "But I don't think this... _us_ , would be a good idea."

Again, it was clear on Credence's face that he didn't understand the reasons behind Percival's decision. God, he was so innocent, unaware of what a relationship of any sort with the Head of the CIA Department of Security could bring upon him!

"Is it..." the boy started hesitantly, "Is it because I'm younger than you? Are you afraid of what people would say? Don't listen to them, I'm old enough to know what _I_ want, and I want y..."

Credence trailed off when Percival placed a finger on his parted lips, interrupting him in a gentle way as he ran his thumb across the inviting mouth. For a second, the older man considered leaning in and offering a kiss to these lips, an apology, but he refrained himself. He could not lead the boy on.

"It's not because you're too young," he whispered. "I know for a fact that age and level of maturity don't always go together, so... It's not for that."

"Then why?" Credence asked against his fingertips.

Percival couldn't resist his wide eyes, shining with questions and wonder while he looked at him, and he heaved a deep sigh. The boy at least deserved a proper explanation.

"Trust me when I say that I want this," he began - and perhaps that was not the best way to convince Credence that they could not be together, but he quickly added, "This would be a really bad idea, though. It is too dangerous."

Percival turned away, unable to bear the crestfallen look on Credence's face, and he watched through the window as light drizzle started to fall from the moody sky, thin drops crashing on the windowsills. The agent swallowed around the lump in his throat and closed his eyes.

"I nearly got you killed," he whispered, voice cracking, "and you were just supposed to be an hostage. Do you imagine what would happen if word got out that I'm _dating_ you?"

He only heard silence echoing in his back, until quiet but steady footsteps resounded, coming closer to him with every second that passed. Percival nearly startled when Credence gently sneaked his good arm around his waist and pressed his chest against the agent's back, surrounding him with warmth that immediately had him relax and lean into the touch. He suddenly felt tiny in the taller boy's embrace.

"Please," Credence begged, whispering against his neck. "Let me choose the dangers I'm willing to face."

Percival turned around, mad hope but also disbelief written all over his face. Did he not understand how badly this could end?

"I... I'm not joking, Credence."

"Neither am I," the young man said, still standing so close to him. "I won't lie: I was scared back then and I... I don't want to go through any of that again. I just... Even if there is a risk... I think you are worth it."

Percival didn't blush. No, really, he did not. But he did feel delighted at the confession, even though it would have been easier not to feel anything at all at Credence's words. But what had ever been easy between them? He knew he was completely gone on the boy and they hadn't even had their first date yet - because car chases and near-death experiences didn't count. They hadn't done the slightest thing in the right order, had they? Percival had threatened the boy with a gun before they even had their first fight, he'd whisked him away in a sort of scary and non-romantic elopement and finally, he'd kissed him in the back of an ambulance instead of seducing him on a beach of white sand, with a beautiful sunset in the background. He couldn't bring himself to fully regret that last part, though.

"Are you sure?" the agent eventually asked, his brown eyes locking with Credence's dark and sincere orbs.

"I have been thinking about you for the past three weeks," the boy admitted, suddenly shy. "I'm sure."

Percival huffed a laugh and trailed his hand down to grasp Credence's, closing his eyes as he revelled into the warmth of their tangled fingers. Perhaps he could have this, for real. Credence wanted it, just as much as he did himself, so maybe... Maybe they didn't have to suffer being apart from each other. They could try. If they were careful, if he took every possible precaution... Perhaps they would be all right.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, "I was about to head out for lunch. Would you like to... go with me, maybe? As in, on a date?"

Percival could say without lying that he had never seen a smile so bright in his life before. Hand in hand, they left his office together and Queenie, who had stayed around to chat with one of their co-workers (or so she would say if asked) flashed them a grin and raised both of her thumbs in Credence's direction. As always, the people Percival passed by in the corridors stared at him with admiration, until they noticed that he was not alone, and the agent already knew that crazy rumours would welcome him back after his lunch.

And even though he glared at everyone who dared gape at him and the young man by his side, Percival's fingers tightened their hold around Credence's hand and didn't let go.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading until the end! Your support means a lot to me and I'm truly happy that I've been on this journey with you :)
> 
> Question time: I have an idea for a plot that would enable me to write a second part to this AU, would you be up for it? I'd like to know whether I should dig deeper into this fresh idea or leave it as it is now. If I do write it, I can't be sure yet that I will publish it soon as the deadline for my thesis is coming closer and closer and I would like to finish my [other Gradence AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9414272/chapters/21311096) first.
> 
> Again, thank you for everything! I hope to see you again soon!


End file.
